We’ve seen the behind the scenes videos and the photoshoot outtakkes, but, finally, today, Lars Talbekk, the Swedish illegal immigrant who steals all my mail, showed up at my door with a guilty look all over his face, a mouth full of apologies, and my Victoria’s Secret swimsuit edition catalog still warm from the mailman’s hand. There’s no creature on this planet low enough to steal another man’s Victoria’s Secret catalog. Not even Lars, and trust me when I tell you I haven’t seen any of my mailed-for eau de toilette samples since he started rummaging my football-shaped mailbox six months ago. Nevertheless, Candice Swanepoel is here, in bikini, on my coffee table / footrest / undesirable friends who get drunk and pass out at my place bed. Oh, Candice, how your bikini body hotness soothes my troubled heart, unruffles my ruffled pillow shams my girlfriend insists are ‘not gay’, and generally make me want to be a much better man person. Also, I really want to go swimming with you. Enjoy.