When Adrien Brody steps out dressed like a third-tier Staten Island pimp/black market amphibian vendor circa 1982, I make a million excuses for him. But I'm throwing up my hands at this. This I cannot defend.
At the VIP Room in Cannes last night, Adrien and Wonky McValtrex got a little too close for his genitals' comfort. When they laughed, his dick cried. When they whispered in each other's ears, his nutsack whispered to God to please put it out of its misery.
The sad truth is, even though the inside of Adrien's peen hole now looks like a tank at Red Lobster, I still would. Sigh. I'd put on a bib, dip his dick into a cup of drawn butter and handle that shit.