Like your bearded homeboy Jesus says, you shouldn’t hide that finely-waxed bosom under a bushel basket…or something. What’s the point of Human Growth Hormone if you can’t flaunt its ripply effects? Or give those dangly jeweled nipple rings some fresh air? Every time I watch you playing ultimate frisbee, or ping pong, or video games, or LARPing, or agruing in debate class, you insist on being on the “skins” side–and for good reason. The only thing hotter than a popped collar is when you complain you’re itchy and two-hand that shirt off in one fluid motion that drowns me in the tidal wave of your torso. When the blacklight hits you just right, you look like a swarthy Matthew McConaughey–and then you ask me to “play your bongos”…HOT. From your teats to your omphalos, the fine Muscular Definition is more weighty and serious than anything in my Oxford Unabridged–even though the spray-tan airbrusher shaded an eight-pack of abs on you by mistake. But baby, that’s just more washboard for me to love…
(for further examples of shirtless goodness, see banner of this website).
*This douchey dude like was graciously suggested by reader Cheri.
This post made my shirt fall off.
Mission accomplished. (Gravity is bitchin’.)