Panty Creamer of the Day

Who cares if Superman looks like he gets a blowout at the same place Bruno Mars gets his every morning. Who cares if Superman washed his signature period panties in the his bathroom sink, hung them up to dry on the towel rack and forgot to put them on before he flew out the winda. Who cares if that suit was made from the blue perforated leather loafers I had as a kid that made me look like an old priss queen on a cruise to Italy. Who cares if he's probably wearing a muscle suit underneath that shit made from a mold of Madge's biceps and Jada Pinkett's twelve-pack. Who cares that it's taking me four Who Cares to say that it's all about the "It's a bird! It's a plane! It's happy to see you!" bulge!

That bulge should be wearing a little red cape and flying hos in distress to safety. That bulge should get a spin-off. It's a total BILF. Or since this is Hollywood we're talking about, it's a total CILF (Codpiece I'd Like to Fuck).

If Steven Soderbergh is trying to make coochies and culos foam at the mouth like Cujo with this Magic Mike movie, then it's working. Steven's Magic Mike is about Channing Tatum's days as a dick-flapping, nalgas-shaking, nipple-pinching, oil-slathering stripper and almost every casting announcement is like an orgasm from heaven.

So far, the cast includes Channing Tatum (eh), Alex Pettyfer (total douchehole but stills a ! from me), Matt Bomer (!!), Matthew McConaughey (eh squared), William Levy (!!!) and now True Blood's Joe Manganiello has hopped on the Panty Creamer Express as Big Dick Richie. Steven just has to cast Boris Kodjoe as Bigger Dick Richie and Carrot Top, and he can officially change the title to Wet Dreams Do Come True. (I know, I always have to break the buzz in your loins by bringing up Carrot Top.)

This is like Showgirls but with 1000% more peen. Showpeens!

Steven better shoot this in (CL)IMAX 3D and release all the outtakes on an unrated DVD that comes wrapped in the used stripper chonies of one of the cast members. Steven also better hold an open call for fluffers or opposite-fluffers (since I've been known to bring a peen down with talks of Carrot Top, for example).

That being said, poor movie employees will soon find out what Tommy Girl's clean up crew have to deal with when they go down to his dungeon.

Let's just assume that this bite-sized caramel twinkie was actually the same height as ASkars, but magically shrunk down before the Swedish mountain of hotness so that he could gaze up at him the way one gazes up at the sun. Let's also just assume that pygmy gay's fly was actually up until ASkars came along and it dropped low so that his peen could breathe in some Swedish musk. That little pocket hottie is only doing what we would all do in this situation. Actually, most of you public whores would be asking the pap to hold your purse as your knees started to bend.

And who ever said that a picture is worth a thousand restraining orders, was talking about this picture.

That rhymes!

All day I've been hung over, under, to the side, etc... It feels like a giant suction cup is plunging the top of my head over and over again in slow motion while two invisible vibrators fuck me in both ears. It's not as hot as it sounds. Trust this. I was about to vow to never ever touch a bottle of booze ever again (HAHAHAHA!), but then my retinas swept across these pictures of Hugh Jackmeoff sunning his nipples in St. Tropez yesterday and I've changed my mind. I will lick on the sweet nectar once again as long it's dripping off of Hugh's 8 lane happy trail or off of his erect arm vein. That's the only time. So please, Hugh, don't keep my only true friend in the world (booze) and me apart!

Oh, fuckit. I'll just lick some whiskey off of some rack of ribs leftovers and pretend it's Hugh. I'll sprinkle my own pubes over it to make it really realistic. Booze and I can never be parted.

The Jheri curl beard on the face of San Francisco Giants' Brian Wilson is usually the main attraction of his overall look, but at last night's ESPYs in L.A. all eyeballs suctioned themselves to his Spandex tuxedo and matching pencil dick cane.

Brian's Spandex tuxedo makes me wish it was possible for Richard Simmons' nipple leche to successfully fertilize a lesbian penguin's ovary. It's what it would look like if Fidel Castro hugged Klaus Nomi from the back.

Brian explained his mess of an ensemble to the Washington Post like this:

“It's a onesie, so it has built-in gloves that are a little dirty because I've been getting a little awkward here on the carpet. And I've got my cougar cane — my 'plus one' tonight.

And the socks came in the fan mail from a San Francisco Giants fan. You know who you are, thank you. It said: ‘Enjoy.’ That was the letter. And I'm currently enjoying them. Ninja socks.”

My only problem with this is that when a dude wraps the Spandex around him, I expect to get the gift of a basket of bulge and Brian didn't bring it. You'd think that his matching Jheri curl ball bush would make his crotch zone look like 4 hairy hamsters having an orgy under a Spandex blanket. Maybe he slicked that shit back for this formal occasion, But besides that, Brian's Spandex tuxedo worked for all my senses right (except my sense of smell, because you know his taint reeked of rotten cheese curds marinating in a puddle of hobo sweat).

Yes, the man nipples features in this man nipple buffet are not man nipples I'd ever request, but it's a slow as hell Monday and we have to take what we can get! When the paparazzi hands me pictures of Ricky Martin's freshly waxed nipples, Eli Roth's furry chest knobs, the nipples that Trudie Styler pinches during a 6-hour tantric orgy and the nipples that Alan Thicke's sperm co-built, it is my duty to post them.

Plus, I had a serious week last week, because I had to blog from California while helping a relative deal with a shitty issue that they made me promise not to blog about. (Note: The word "shitty" in shitty issue is not to be taken literally, so don't grab my hand and take me there. Don't.) So this chest clitorises of men gallery is just what I need even if I'm never going to look at Braille dots the same way again thanks to Robin Thicke's nipples.

Here's more of Ricky Martin giving an invisible beej (during a concert in Amsterdam), Eli Roth (in Ischia, Italy), Sting (also in Ischia, Italy) and Robin Thicke with Paula Patton in Miami.

If any of us had a stumpy mast of seasoned Italian gristle with a slug hugger full of soft bulging love communicating to us in body language to ravage him whole, we would not turn our backs to him the way Michelle Rodriguez did in Sardinia yesterday. But that's exactly what MRod did while climbing rocks and shit with Italian businessman Gianluca Vacchi. I mean, Gianluca is throwing his arms up and begging for a stick up, but MRod is denying him! Or maybe she left her dildo gun on the boat. Whatever the case may be, I hope that after those dykes on a bike rode into the sunset, their love story ended with Gianluca checking into the emergency room at 4am because he accidentally fell culo first onto a broken off strap-on. Il finito!

If you just so happened to be in Malibu over the weekend and wondered why hundreds of schools of fishes were swimming around the shore, it wasn't because Parasite Hilton went skinny dipping and the sea life thought that a new all-you-can eat buffet had opened up. Nope. It was because Gerard Butler went swimming in the ocean and the sea life KNEW an all-you-can buffet had opened up. You really haven't seen shit until you've seen thousands of fish swim up through Gerry Butler's trunks to nibble on the greasy smegma his dirty dick serves up! It's kind of like when you go to Red Lobster and the servers put down that basket of bottomless cheese biscuits (Off-Topic: Bottomless Cheese Biscuits is my nickname in certain circles). It's like that. Grossness aside....

Here's the man slut extraordinaire and human grease slick Gerry Butler hanging around Malibu this past weekend in a Panama Hat (or a Havana Hat, or whatever that is on his head). My mom and auntie are in town so I've been forced to step outside my hermit whore hole (Off-Topic: Hermit Whore Hole is my nickname in certain circles) and I've noticed that every single bitch on the street is wearing a Panama Hat now. EVERYBODY! Babies, douchebags, hookers, lezzies, gays, memaws, pepaws, squirrels, roaches, etc.. etc.. They are all wearing them! The Panama Hat is the Trucker Hat of 2011 and I can't take everybody trying to look like a Cuban drug kingpin. How are you supposed to know which Cuban drug kingpin sells the bad shit if everybody looks like a Cuban drug kingpin? It's confusing!

Let's fast forward pass this trend and get to the point in history where everybody wears metal Boy London caps again.

True Blood starts making genitals howl again this weekend and Joe Manganiello is selling that shit hard by flexing every single one of his rock hard ab biscuits in the pages of GQ Magazine. Yes, Joe Mangina-Jell-O probably keeps his fiancee up from doing crunches in his damn sleep and breaks her nails on his six-pack when he flexes too fast while she's riding on top, but her insomnia and cracked Press-On nail is our gain!

Anybody who has ever licked on a He-Man action figure is probably making the "MY BODY IS READY POSE" in their cubicle like those half-nekkid ass models above.

When I first read that the tingle in my loins Anderson Cooper was hosting the CFDA Fashion Awards, my first brain fart was that it makes sense why he checked "HELL NO NEVER NO" on the eVite I sent to the CNN general e-mail address asking him to attend my own CFDA (stands for: Come Fuck Dis Ass) event. I forgive him for that. My second thought was that it makes all the sense in the world that The Silver Fox would host the Oscars of fashion (that's what it is, right?).

Mah Boo comes from the Vanderbilt fashion dynasty AND he was a tween Ford model. Yeah, Ford, I know. We shouldn't hold that against him. It's not his fault that he didn't grow up near the esteemed Barbizon Model Academy in Anaheim, CA, the third modeling capital of Orange County (after Santa Ana and Fountain Valley, of course). Mah Boo can't help it that he only knows how to pose in front of a camera and never learned secret Barbizon tips like how to remove a suede bomber jacket while struttin' down the runway and how to keep your back to the door while leaving a casting director's office. (Fuck to me, I just gave away those secrets. There goes my right to use the "Looks Like a Model" tagline on my business card.)

Here's more of Mah Boo showing the fashion world how it's done last night. A little fact, though. That pillar behind Mah Boo was just ordinary until his butt burped and BAM! Crystallized.

I also threw in some pictures of Gerard Butler and Kanye West, because after getting burn marks on your nipples from Anderson Cooper's hotness, you'll need to treat them with douche water (provided by Kanye) and Scottish grease (provided by G. But).