Panty Creamer of the Day

I don't watch Vampire Diaries, because there's only so many vampire shows I need in my life and True Blood automatically wins out since it has a whole lot of ASkars nalgas, Joe Man Jello nipples and tang from Lafayette in it. But what I do need more in my life is almost naked pieces on the cover of magazines and Entertainment Weekly gave me that this week with an issue completely devoted to a shirtless Paul Wesley, a shirtless Ian Somerhalder....and that girl in the middle.

You can almost fap to the sexual tension on this cover. Just look at that Paul Wesley, staring deep into Ian Somerhalder's adam's apple like he wants to suck the core out of it. I see how Paul's hand has temporarily made a stop on Nina Dobrev's stomach before eventually making its way to Somerhalderville. I see how Ian is touching Nina's face only so his elbow can hover near Paul's fingers and feel the heat. (Yes, I write a lot of low-grade soft core in my spare time.) Nina needs to quietly slip out, tip toe to the kitchen and make us all popcorn so we can lounge on the bench in front of the bed and enjoy the show.

ONTD user enael read everybody's minds and really made this cover (and fuck parts) pucker into tomorrow:

Now this shit is officially gold certified fap-worthy. I'd print it out, frame it with the gayed up True Blood Rolling Stone cover and hang both of them in front of my toilet, but fapping while making a caca is even too gross for me.

The rest of the pictures in EW are kind of hilarious. That Paul dude is Zoolandering for his life and most of these look like publicity stills a Straight Guys for Gay Eyes porn.

Just like straight unicorns, Courtney Love's sanity and Kathy Griffin's belly button, Jude Law's natural hairline hasn't been seen in a long time and many of us were starting to believe it was just a figment of our imagination. Jude Law has been covering up his bat ears hairline with hats, plugs and Sienna Miller's (NSFW) unused vagine wiglet for years. But you can cancel that Amber Alert for his natural hairline, because he proudly brought it out at last night's Paris premiere of Sherlock Holmes 2. Jude Law stepped in front of the cameras and bravely said, "My name is Jude Law and the front of my hair looks like the crotch of a 70s lady porn star."

My dad's hair was just like him, hardly around and pretty much nonexistent, but every dude on my mom's side of the family is the opposite. They all have full bear muffs on their head. So it could go either way for me. But if I end up like my dad and have a head like an abandoned Chia Pet's ass, I'll probably just go with it. You know, shave it all off and use glitter lube as head moisturizer. Turn my bald ass head into a party ass head. But I would miss the whole hair pulling thing. Somebody should really make a stick-on fake ponytail so a bald bitch can still partake in some hair-pulling fun.

Steven Soderbergh's Magic Mike isn't coming out in theaters equipped with plastic-wrapped seats and popcorn butter that can double as lube until June, but they're already pushing out stills to keep nipples hard and panty cream churning until the summer.

Entertainment Weekly put out those pictures of Channing Tatum (that's Carol O'Neal to you and me), Alex Pettyfer, Adam Rodriguez and Matt Boner flexing their cum gutters as male strippers. One thing I've learned from these pictures is that I ain't shit, because I should've went to nipple waxing school and gotten a job as the head man hair puller on this movie. These dudes are as hairless as a baby worm's pussy. Living The Life is dipping Adam Rodriguez in a tub of NADS and wrapping him in a cocoon of wax strips before pulling that shit off fast. Then I'd carefully pluck each hair off the strips, wash them all off and knit them into a g-string onesie for me to wear around the house. That's not creepy. It's called BEING GREEN! Damn me to hell for not coming up with this sooner.

And I know we've only seen like two or three pictures from this no-no puckering mess, but it sort of does look like the dude version of Showgirls. Showguys! Steven Sodbergh better not disappoint and he better include a scene where Matt pushes Alex down the stairs and Channing rides Matthew McConaughey's dick in a pool while flopping around like a Beverly Hills mermaid having a seizure.

For some of your asses, it's your first day back in cubicle purgatory after a long weekend of lying gut down on your sofa while sucking down a post-Christmas daiquiri (ingredients: leftover Christmas candy of all kinds, the cheap wine your cheap uncle brought to dinner and the perfume from The Dollar Tree that your cheap uncle's wife gave you as a gift) through a straw, so maybe these pictures of some Iglesias nipples will help to soothe your third hangover of 2012. If you're thinking to yourself, "But Michael, I like my Iglesias nipples well-aged and seasoned. Dáme Julio!", then I just have to say, "MOM! Put down your iPad and let's never subliminally speak about Iglesias nipples again."

Whenever I think of Enrique, I think of that beautiful brown face dingle that a possum gnawed off a few years ago after he spread a little queso on it. I still miss that succulent face nipple. I hope he kept it. Actually, since Enrique always goes on about his hamster peen, I hope he attached that mole to the end of his toddler dick to give him more girth. Enrique is mole-ed for Anna Kournikova's pleasure.

I'm always covering Dlisted with heaping servings of dick and man nipples, so finally here's something for all the hos out there who love it when a pair of steel hard nalgas crack their cheek bones while they're tossing some lady salad. This is Serena Williams throwing the paps a "My farts has six packs on them too, bitch!" look while jet skiing with her friends in Miami over the weekend.

When I first brought up these pictures, my eyes fell back like DAMN. That ass. That's an ass that'll make any shit look for another exit because it knows it can't conquer that double stuffed mountain. That's an ass that if you try to bounce a quarter on it, it'll swallow that quarter and spit out a Quarter Pounder. If you tried to hit that ass from the back, it'll circumcise you AGAIN and I'm sure you wouldn't even mind it. When Serena claps that ass, even Zeus sits down and drops his lightning bolt. Bitch ain’t playing around with that ass.

Here’s more of Serena looking like an HGH-taking pit bull in lingerie.

You hiding out in the back of your closet while eating ham wrapped around broken pieces of candy cane to keep the dealing-with-your-family-induced drunk barfs down is a holiday tradition and so is me posting pictures of Simon Cowell's luscious German Shepherd tits. Every Christmas, Ryan Gaycrest's main homegirl goes over to Barbados to feed the stray island dogs with the 100% whole leche that shoots out of his nipples holes when he flexes his dough ball chichis.

Don't you just want to get naked and roll all around Simon's fluffy rug breasts, or do whatever the hell you do on a bearskin rug? I was about to say, don't you want you to titty fuck Simon, but how are you going to explain those rug burns on your genitals to your free clinic technician?

It really wouldn't be the holidays without a visit from Simon's double calzones of furry fun. And with that, I wish all of your asses a Merry Christmas. Or as they say in Italy, Buon Natale! Or as I say when I butcher that shit, Bone Natalie!

Never mind the cell phone strapped to the waistband (!!!!!!!!) or the fact that he's dressed up more like a lesbian lumberjack buying a chainsaw at Home Depot than a butch bitch biker, Prince Hot Ginge straddled on a Harley is still making all of my pistons fire. Prince Hot Ginge has moved on from California to Arizona to continue helicopter training, and this past Friday he transformed into The Gingey Rider when he rented a Harley from a dealership in Scottsdale. This is the same Harley dealership in Scottsdale that I'm going to need you to stand guard in front of while I sneak in to make out with that bike's seat. You have my permission to mace me in the face if you see me putting a condom over one of those handlebars after pulling down my chonies. The ginger fever hits me the wrong way sometimes. I can't help it.

A witness tells The Daily Mail that the strands of pure bronze sprouting out of PHG's arms twinkled in the sun and blinded all motorists as he sped off for the open road with his bodyguard. The witness went on to say, "Harry looked like he definitely knew his way around a motorbike. It was Friday rush-hour traffic. He was on the freeway for a while before they hit the open road. He was weaving in and out of commuter traffic. He didn’t even have proper leathers on or gloves. He rode like a pro."

You know, it's best that I let this moment from last night's Saturday Night Live describe my feelings about Hot Ginge on a Hog:

At this performance, the role of these PHG pictures will be played by Paul Rudd and the role of me will be played by Jason Segel.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and practice my "grazing with a BIC" technique since the hanky code tells me that PHG gets into shaving shit. I knew there was a good reason for why the tingles overtake me when I get a whiff of ginger-scented shaving cream.

Don't bother getting up to pick up the sweatpants and chonies that shot off of your body after your genitals exploded from seeing Mickey Rourke struttin' his sexy through some parking lot in Los Angeles yesterday. They'll just shoot off again as soon you put them back on. When Mickey's pants come off, everybody's pants come off. This is a truth of life. What also seems to be a truth of life is that the huge bulge on his mouth is bigger than the bulge in his panty shorts. HUNG LIPS: Mickey's got 'em. So if you're one of the lucky ones who gets to hump on Mickey, you now know where to direct your fuck part.

And he so knows the power his hands hold. Look at him softly caress that statue's undercarriage too. The Empire State Building's no smoking policy is temporarily void today, because it's going need a few cigarettes after this.

Here's Henry Cavill on the Vancouver set of Superman: Man of Steel and here's the two reasons why that make-up artist is Supergirl to my Saleeeeeeena:

1. THIS BITCH gets to write on her 2011 tax returns that one of her full-time jobs for this year was to spray WD-40 on Henry Cavill's nipples and smear grease all over furry pectacles until he looked like one of the rock hard pieces of blackened lung that Keith Richards hacks up after serving his 1 millionth cigarette for the day.

You really haven't successfully achieved professional greatness until human resources calls you into the office to say: "We need you to stop licking your lips and winking as you apply liquid dirt to Mr. Cavill's upper buttocks area. It's inappropriate. Also, we're going to need to confiscate your locker of all the body hairs you sneakily stole off of Mr. Cavill's chest."

2. When the light hits her hair against the green screen, it looks like a fall of sparkling ginger is gracefully trickling off of her head.

I mean, ginge (I think) and a full-time job as Henry Cavill's body greaser? What an obnoxious way of flaunting that you were Mother Fucking Theresa in your past life.