Before reading this, please take a good look at this video…
Yep, that’s me. Apparently, this is the new sexy.
Sorry about that.
For those of you who have been following me in the “Who Is the Sexiest Number” competition at The Public Blogger, after 100 men and six rounds of competition, I officially struck a major blow to sexiness everywhere by winning the finals Monday. This morning, the United Nations called an emergency session to discuss the ramifications.
“It’s like making contact with an alien race,” said a U.N. spokesman. “We are now faced with questioning everything we thought we knew about ourselves and our universe as humans.”
This status update on my sexiness will be quick because, let’s be honest, it’s me we’re talking about. Those of you who have been following my inclusion in the “Who is the Sexiest Number” competition at The Public Blogger will be happy to know I’ve made the final three.
Ok, maybe “shocked” is a better word.
Either way, as we head into next week’s final round (June 5 & 6), it’s down to Thomas Lemke of Oklahoma, Keyur Panchal of India, and me: a slightly older humorist (give or take 20 years). I’m currently ranked No. 1, mostly due to my seductive bacon poetry, which was dripping with… uh… sexiness?
For the final round, we are required to make a short video explaining what quality we’d like others to perceive as “sexy” about us.
Being chosen among 100 men to participate in The Public Blogger’s “Who Is the Sexiest Number” competition was hard enough for me to understand. The fact that it has come down to Thomas Lemke and myself during tonight’s finals round is even harder to fathom.
Not the Thomas part.
He’s definitely sexy.
In fact, if I wasn’t a ridiculously happily married heterosexual, I’d be all over that guy.
As I mentioned last week, due to what I’m assuming was either an egregious counting error or possibly something alcohol related, I somehow ended up in the final six “Sexiest Men” in the Public Blogger’s online Neighborhood. In the last round, we were required to write a piece of sexy poetry, which I did by drawing from my deep passion and desire for soft, glistening curves of my mistress…
Clearly, I’m not the only one who feels this way because I’m coming into this round in first place.
After tonight, only four of us will remain when voting ends tomorrow morning at 6 a.m. PST (and by that, I don’t necessarily mean I’ll be eliminated by a heart attack.) This round’s theme is “Smile,” with each of us submitting something — art, photography, music or humor *cough cough* — to vote on as each of us tries in our own way to “bring sexy back.” As you can imagine, I’m already behind because I actually have to FIND my sexy first. In the meantime, if you’d like to cast a vote — for me or any of these terrific men — you can follow the link, which I have cleverly labeled as “Vote Here.”
No matter who you vote for, or whether you vote at all, I already feel like a winner just knowing that I have bacon at home.
As I mentioned last Sunday, I have somehow ended up among a group of men ranked as “The Sexiest” on The Public Blogger’s international stage of artists known and The Neighborhood.
I know what you’re thinking: There goes The Neighborhood.
But the fact that I’ve reached the top six out of 100 men just goes to show that Trump’s campaign may not be the strangest thing we’ve seen this year. For example, with two rounds remaining, I am somehow ranked 1st after Sunday’s round of competition: “Sexy Poetry.” I’d like to say it’s because of my command of love language and ability to create sexually charged imagery that makes the heart beat faster; I’d like to say it’s because my machismo transcends the written word and internal passion that each of us carries, just waiting to be ignited; I’d like to say something really sexy right now but as you can see it’s not working. Continue reading Apparently, I’m not the only one who finds bacon sexy
Those are three words I never expected to be associated with. Especially that second one, which I’m still scratching my head about. But tonight, I’ll be joining seven other men for Round 2 of the “Who Is the Sexiest Number?” at The Public Blogger.
The objective is to write your sexiest poetry.
That’s right: Me, a humor columnist, bringing on “the sexy” against young rappers and artists. Let’s be honest, bringing “the sexy” is hard enough by myself. Believe me, I know.
Wait… not that I know what it’s like being sexy by myself. I just meant when I’m by myself it’s already hard… I mean tough! It’s tough writing poetry!
A naked guy playing flaming bagpipes while riding a unicycle.
But a few days ago, as I was scrolling through my Facebook notifications, I was tagged in a post with 35 others who had been listed as “The Neighborhood’s Sexiest Men.” I stared at it for a moment then, naturally, decided to restart my iPad.
Something was clearly wrong, like that time Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” started playing on my laptop and wouldn’t stop until the battery ran out.
(Today’s post is unusual because, for the first time, this one actually comes as a request. To put into perspective just how unusual this is, think of drinking a beet frappuccino, then requesting another one. Then again, most people aren’t Carrie Rubin at The Write Transition where, in addition to her terrific perspective on life and writing, she also offers a “very tasty” beet frappuccino recipe…)
I have a favorite pair of jeans I refuse to give up, and which, over the last few years, my wife has attempted to eradicate on six different occasions. She hates these jeans because, according to her, they are “ripped, frayed and embarrassing.” Particularly when I forget to change them before going out somewhere in public, such as our front yard. Her attempts to get rid of my jeans have escalated from them being “lost,” to an incident last week in which she claimed my jeans “spontaneously combusted,” forcing her to put out the flames with the nearest extinguishing device: A meat cleaver.
She later apologized for hacking my jeans, telling me she reacted instinctively to a dangerous situation. I told her I understood and that, instinctively, I planned to continue wearing my newly perforated jeans, at least until the remaining threads give way to the force of gravity and I am suddenly de-pantsed.
Nothing says “sexy” faster than someone with a pair of giant lips, even if that person’s collagen injections have made their lips so enormously seductive that they can’t actually pronounce the word “sexy,” and must instead settle for calling themselves “shek-shee.”
The point is, big lips are no longer just a cosmetic enhancement for people less fortunate than Mick Jagger and Angelina Jolie, whose lips are so large and incredibly sexy that they are prohibited by international law from bearing children together because, quote: “Said children could potentially upset the delicate balance between populations of humans and sucker fish.”
Though we all know that true beauty stems from inside, as any cosmetics surgeon will tell you, no one will notice unless your lips are the size of tractor tires. Which is why a new product called City Lips is being heralded as the newest, easiest and safest way to give you the lips you always wanted, but never dreamed you could have. At least not without surgically implanting tire stems in them and inflating your lips to 350 psi. Until now, those of us unable to afford expensive collagen injections were forced to live with the embarrassment of having normal, everyday lips. But thanks to City Lips, you can avoid the hassle and expense of collagen injections by using their patented do-it-yourself lip enlargement process! Continue reading The bigger your lips, the sexier you’ll be when dating a sucker fish