Once more, I've been snubbed by the GQ Man of the Year Award. I'm not even going to look who won. I'm sure it's George Clooney or some civil rights leader or the Pope or Obama or somebody who really isn't a horrible second place choice, but one of these years I would like to have my hard work recognized by more than my grade school alumni newsletter which calls me a 'mildly successful purveyor of naughty things'. C'mon, GQ, this is why the magazine business is suffering.
Nevertheless, the periodical did manage to bring out hotties like Shay Mitchell,Charli XCX, and other young sextastic celebrities of distinction who think real men love articles on how best to blow dry your hair in low humidity conditions. I'd like to think when I finally get tapped for my award, 5,000 of the world's most outrageously good looking women will attend and gang attack me with loofahs in an enormous bubble bath. In fact, I'm not even showing up to accept unless that part is somewhat guaranteed. I'm nobody's second choice. Enjoy.
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