We love pretty much anything to do with Barbie (stereotypical gay? Who us?) — and these photos from photographer Bruce Dean are just another thing to add to the list. But while you may think that throwing a bunch of dolls into a hot tub is just another gay’s shallow attempt at controversial art, Huff Po reports:

“Dean’s work is largely shaped and informed by a friend he lost to AIDS in 1998 —  a friend that exposed him to the world of queer culture and broke down the stigma and bigotry he internalized towards the gay community.”

Dean continues to state that his pieces are to help “normalize and gain acceptance”. And what better way to do that than to ditch the bitch and throw an orgy in a hot tub? Hollaaa!

[H/T: Huff Po/NNN]

It’s always a nice invasion of privacy surprise when a celebrity has their nudes leaked. And an even better one when they’re hot af. We’ve been puppy-loved with Lucien Laviscount ever since we saw him on the first promo for Ryan Murphy’s Scream Queens, (and heard that sexy British accent, of course). And it seems the star is just like any of the rest of us; using modern technology to get his rocks off. What can we say, apart from that this queen was screaming when the pics re-surfaced…

They likely got leaked when the star appeared on British series Skins, or went into the Celebrity Big Brother house — but thanks to his new role in the US comedy horror, they’re doing the rounds on Tumblr again… *Blows kiss to God*

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW IMAGES

[H/T: Bait4Days]

You’ve surely heard of the saying “always the bridesmaid, never the bride”. I always used to think of myself as ‘always the best friend, never the boyfriend’. It’s something I call the “Bridesmaid Syndrome”. And while it may just seem like a self-absorbed imaginary mental disorder adopted by whiney middle-aged women that can’t hold on to a man because they’d rather fester in their own loneliness – it’s something that runs much deeper than that…

So where does Bridesmaid Syndrome come from? Where most issues come from; childhood.

I guess mine started when I was quite young. I was never anybody’s first choice; not for anything. I was a fat kid with braces, so why would I be? I remember being about ten, and at summer camp, Ellie – the prettiest girl a gay kid in denial had ever seen – chose my best friend Freddy over me. She knew we both liked her, and she knew she could have whichever one she wanted; she chose him. Obviously the fact I made her laugh more meant nothing because Freddy was tanned and naturally athletic, while I was quite clearly neither.

I was never picked first for sports because I was overweight. The girls never fancied me because I wasn’t attractive. The boys made comments because I wasn’t like them. And when enough people give you the impression that you’re not good enough – intentionally or not – it’s something that you start to believe. Every time that you fall short of perfection, it chips away at your self-esteem. It can make you compulsive, obsessive and determined to reach unattainable goals in a number of aspects of life, because you feel that you have something to prove; to demonstrate that you’re just as attractive as Freddy, just as cool as the other kids, and far more successful than your bullies. And in some cases, that desire to win can consume you.

But there’s a number of issues and childhood fuck-ups that lend people to the Bridesmaid Syndrome; abuse, bullying, broken homes and neglect, to name just a few… Because what we experience as children frames how we view ourselves as adults later in life.

When you’re starved of the attention and love that human nature craves, you can become desperate to find it in whichever way possible, no matter how unhealthy or illogical. Many people turn to some form of self-harm, punishing themselves for not living up to other people’s – and their own – expectations. But we tend to keep that pretty quiet. Because nobody wants to be an attention seeker. But hold on, attention seeker? What does that mean? We’re all seeking attention. Attention is human. Which questions whether when we don’t receive attention, do we become inhuman? Is it really that twisted, that we’ve become robots that are simply searching and fighting for a human entity again? It’s not malicious, facetious, or even deliberate – but rather just a natural reaction we have to being broken.

My destruction of choice, was an eating disorder. I was missing the affection and praise of a mother I’d lost at eight, and definitely wasn’t getting it from any of my peers. But being skinny was something I was good at, and each time someone commented on my weight loss, the praise I felt was like finally being the best at something. So I put two fingers down my throat up to everyone that ever called me fat, and really committed myself. The compliments continued to roll in, and – unlike my dinner – I ate it up. Hunger pains, exhaustion, stomach cramps, and harbouring a shameful secret were nothing compared to the high of being noticed. But as it started to ruin my life, I had to give up on the one thing that was filling my lack of self-worth.

After numerous counselling sessions I got over it, but you think that because you stop making yourself throw-up every day that you’ve flushed your issues away too. But I’d only addressed a problem that was caused by a much deeper issue. I was still missing the attention I always deserved, but never got because cancer robbed me of a mother. I didn’t have that one person that tells you you’re beautiful every day no matter what. And when you have a void that deep, it affects the way you see other people too.

So naturally, you go for all the wrong guys; the one’s that don’t deserve you – because you need some kind of validation – and the ones that don’t value you, because deep down you don’t really value yourself. You’re one of the good ones, but hey, “nice guys always finish last”. And of courses they do, because nobody wants  nice guy… not even you.

The feeling can be overwhelming, and forces a lot of people into bouts of depression. While other people go in the opposite direction, and listen to that little niggling voice that tells them that if they can achieve perfection, this feeling will dissipate. I’m the latter; so I workout six days a week in the hopes of being desired. I dream of success so I can prove I’m not as worthless as I feel inside. And I crave fame so that when others appreciate me, I won’t feel as lonely as I do some days.

But for some reason, no matter what you do, the boy you like will always pick the slut with slightly better genes. Thus the soul-destroying feeling returns. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got ropey losers I slept with four years ago banging my door down because I look better than I did, but now they want me, I only seek the affection of someone else that doesn’t. And that rejection still hurts far more than it ever should. And you end up right back where you were, picking yourself apart again.

The thing with Bridesmaids Syndrome is that it’s a very complex concept; deep down you kinda know it’s there, but you don’t actually realise that it’s something that isn’t going to get better until you address it. It’s something that just smacked me in the face one night at 3am after copious amounts of alcohol. I’m sure that recognising it within oneself is an important step, but where do you go next?

Honestly, I don’t know… Perhaps it’s something you’re saddled with and just have to accept. Perhaps one day we’ll realise that it just doesn’t matter as much as we always thought it did. Or perhaps one day we won’t care about who loves us, because we’ll love ourselves enough.

What I do know, is that I currently have no desire to stop chasing the ideal physique and definitely no chance of settling for minor success. I know that while deep down I’m never good enough for myself, or anyone else, that sometimes they’re never good enough for me either. Because one crippling affect of the Bridesmaid Syndrome is that while you believe you’re searching for happiness, you’re actually searching for perfection, in yourself, and others. Constantly looking outward for a fulfilment that you’ll never find until you correct what’s buried inside first.

So for now, I’ll strive to be somebody that’s the furthest cry from who I used to be; with the amazing body, the glamorous lifestyle, the unnecessary fame, because then, maybe one day, I’ll be perfect enough to be someone’s first choice.

[Images: Gayguys.com]

Guys with pancake butts are easy targets. It’s part of the reason why we never miss leg day, because you can’t have people chatting shit ’bout your pruney behind. Well, one unfortunate guy literally has no bum. Just a hole. We don’t know what this condition is called (apart from ‘unlucky’), but we can’t help but wonder how it affects his daily life… We hope he’s not the butt of all jokes amongst his friends. (Sorry).

[H/T: The Sword]

We ain’t never been into sports, and as far as we knew weren’t anything gonna change that. And then we came across this… Brace yo’selves. Buff ex-football player Brendan Schaub (who bares more than a passing resemblence – in this photo – to Tim Tebow) bare his booty on Fox NFL Sunday. We’re not sure why, but what we do know is that God sends you something good from above, questions are not always the priority. The martial artist hosts a podcast for Fox Sports every Sunday about MMA (Mixed martial arts) with Bryan Callen who looks like his jaw ’bout to slam off the desk so hard he gon’ leave a dent…

YA WELCOME.

You remember the sexy Mexican stripper we reported on/you wanked to last week? Of course you do… Well here’s a few GIFs and another video to tide you over. turns out the footage of the go-go dancer are from LA Pride from two years ago. OK, so it’s not brand new — but we don’t hear you complaining. Not over the sound of you bashing one out anyway…

Perhaps it’s just a roll of quarters…

So some backward church in Arkansas has given a twink the boot out of their painful weekly hour services because he sashayed out the closet. Devo’d? Hardly. It’s like a get-out-of-jail free card. Hey God, totes still worship you etc, but can’t make church no more because those gremlins running things won’t let me through the door. Soz. Still praying tho. The church asked him to abandon his “sinful” lifestyle — How they even though this gay was a sinner? That’s why you gotta turn off your Grindr notifications during mass. ANYWAYS…

They sent poor Dylan Settles some weak BS:

Personally, we like our version of the letter better:

It has come to the attention, of the gym body Church body, that you have made it known publicly of your choice to embrace Cher, glitter and shirtless raves the homosexual lifestyle. While we understand the gay boy problems struggles we all face with dick sin in our asses lives, we must also be aware of the consequences of our coitus choices.

As a chicken Christian we must choose to serve and obey dominant tops, in accordance with God’s holy wood word, in order to remain a mary member in good erectional standing of the church body. We as the church boredom board at Morning Wood’s Chapel General Bummers Baptist Church, have with great ignorance sorrow, voted to remove your mincing name immediately from the church membership roleplay role.

It is the desire of your simple-minded brainwashers church family, you would turn from all the hot gay sex the sinful lifestyle you have chosen, repent of the blowjobs sins you have committed, and return to full closet-case fellowship with half the choir boys God and the Church body.

BYE, GIRL, BYE

We’re an absolute sucker for gay dads; it literally melts the layers of ice that seclude our heart. A gay family always looks so happy. Not to say that heterosexual ones don’t, but perhaps it’s because it was a right that denied for so many years. So when we can quite obviously see the love between Corey, Rocco and Forge (they sound like Disney characters), yes, we do an ‘ahhh’ with the head side-tilt.

Gays With Kids offer support for gay dads and families considering parenthood, and shows the average Sunday routine for these three… They said to Gay Star News: ‘We hope people will notice the simple joys that come from family. We are so grateful for every minute we have together.’

Hopefully the viral will bring us that much closer to living in a world where gay parents are more accepted: as it just demonstrates that sexuality means nothing to a family that is filled with love.

There’s plenty of things we love about summer; the smell of sweaty balls freshly cut grass, handjobs ice creams on Clapham Common and (now we’re LA residents), heading to Muscle Beach and riding men waves. But some of the best things about summer often go overlooked; such as naked guys perfecting their twerk team techniques. But thankfully, we live in a world where Vine catches that shit. We’re sure he had plenty of volunteers to rub in that oil, not to mention a few bystanders gettin’ hot and sweaty just watching.

Sidebar: Where the F is this park? Not that we’re gonna show up unannounced with a pair of binoculars, of course.

https://vine.co/v/eqbLdF7D90m/embed

Thought those selfi-obsessed-selfie-taking-charity-donating campaigns were over? Think again! Long gone were the Ic Bucket Challenge, cock in a sock, and shower snaps that encouraged the public to donate money, while feeding their ego — and probably not donating money –, (not, that we’re knocking any attempt to raise money for a good cause), but now comes #ShowUsYourTackle. Which to be fair, is more along the lines of the #FlyThatCock and Critique My Dick trends. Still though, like we said, half-naked lads raising money and awareness for Brainstrust ain’t a bad thing, and for every photo with the hashtag, Jack Wills will donate a quid to the charity (and that doesn’t mean you can’t donate too…)

Snap yourself in your boxers and you can also leave you in with a chance of winning a £5,000 bar tab to celebrate the World Cup Final. (Because liver cancer is so much more curable than brain). But yes, drunk straight guys in their underwear is exactly what we want. Maybe Santa (or God) is masquerading ad Jack Wills this year. Cheers to that! OGLE, OGLE boys and get snappin’!

#ShowUsYourTackle

As if gay couples adopting wasn’t still a highly debatable topic among many people, there’s now a throuple that would like to bring a child – or three – into their life. The male triad, made up of Adam, Sebastian and Shayne are what’s known as a polyamorous relationship. I mean, whatever works for you. I can barely make it through a threesome without getting jealous. But if it works for them and they’re happy, why knock it — but is it alright to bring children into the equation?

They all work in the medical profession, and according to The Mirror, hope to conceive three kids with Seb’s sister’s eggs and Shayne’s sister as the surrogate. Wow, that sister must really love you, because I don’t know anyone that would let their vagina get ripped open three times without getting off, let alone without getting a screaming child for themselves.

Shayne and Adam (the two that look like brothers) met in some naff nightclub in Canada and totes hit it off. They got married. Three years later they met Seb, and got divorced so he didn’t feel like a third wheel. Talk about conventional… Now they talk about having kids:

They admit that it was just a “sexual experimentation”, i.e. a couple looking for a third to add some spice in between the sheets. And they saw Seb dancing to Gangnam Style and thought it was really cute (no, I’m being deadly serious). Not sure if anyone that dances to that song should be able to parent a child, but that’s a different discussion…

Adam says: “We just want to say that love is love. It should be multiplied not divided. It shouldn’t matter if you’re in a three-way or a four-way relationship.” HMM… Not sure about that one. Eight blokes that can’t hear their baby stirring because they’re having a gang-bang…

I’ve always said that if a child is safe, supported and surrounded by love, that anyone should be able to adopt. So is it OK to raise children under the influence that a three-way relationship is the norm? Or are we just pushing it now? And it’s not necessarily about gay or straight; as I feel two men and a woman in a polyamorous relationship would raise a number of eyebrows too. So, is three really a crowd?

I, Dani St James, am a dating addict, this is, in my opinion, a pretty bold statement to make when we live in a social media society where the last thing you’d ever want to convey is the slightest bit of vulnerability before a well-edited selfie featuring the troutiest of pouts. My addiction isn’t a new thing, I’ve always been this way, but the binges have heightened more than ever since I moved to London three years ago.

They say there’s a first for everything. And while I’ve accomplished a fair amount on first dates, I’ve surprisingly never gone on one baked out my face. I mean, why would you? Trying to impress a boy and end up ordering all the entrees on the menu because you’ve got wicked munchies. Or your date pops to the bathroom and returns, like “where’s my cheesecake?!” and you’re sitting there with chocolate stains across your cheeks and crumbs falling onto your bloated stomach; erm, they haven’t brought it out yet… 

But anyway, that being said, when the guy you’re having a midweek Mexican meal with suggests bunning up a zoot before your date, it would just be rude to say no. In fact, I actively encourage my future boyfriend to smoke pot. After he’s financially secure enough to have a hot tub, obvs.

But you can always get a sense if you’re on the same level as the other guy before the date. For example, he texts: “I’m excited to meet you, handsome”. And you almost reply: “I’m excited for Margaritas too”, so there was always the possibility that it was going to crash and burn up like a bag of ganja. But he was a total lush as well, so we were obviously going to get on, even just as friends.

Anyway, man turns up in his Jeep and pulls out this pipe packed-full of green. A pipe? Girl, thought I was in a Cheech and Chong movie for a minute.
“Are you putting any tobacco in that?” (aka, am I gonna be able to hold a conversation).
“No” (aka, no, you are not).

He had these cheeks like Droopy the dog that made it look like he was always frowning, even when he was smiling. “Stoner-chops” I thought, before smiling to myself. He smelt of Wrigley’s gum. He wore a nice watch. I was bored already. He was talkative enough, but the smoke in the air had got the repartee stoned too.

Driving through Hollywood – baked af – he tells me about his recent DUI. Cut to me fumbling for my seatbelt like somebody that’s just realised they’re iPhone isn’t in their pocket. ‘Spose if he wrote the car off and we both died, it would have been a little more interesting. Our topics of conversation ranged from all the normal things not-stoned people talk about on a first date, like murderers, Thanksgiving turkeys and the cost of private colleges. It’s like people had put in orders for their dating chit-chat, and we’d forgotten, so were left with the scraps of the conversational barrel. AMEN that he was just as spaced, because I was unloading sacks of steaming verbal turd onto his dashboard at every red light.

Stepping out of the car, you have to do the obligatory outfit check. Well, Joan Rivers was rolling in her grave at this Fashion Police disaster. Boy was clearly stoned when he got dressed. Look, I’m not saying you have to be in an Armani suit, or have as much swag as me – I don’t expect miracles. But since when were ill-fitting cargo shorts and open-toe sandals appropriate attire for a first date? Personally, I think foot thongs are unacceptable anywhere, but I don’t wanna stare at your toenails while I’m trying to maintain an appetite. Playing footsie under the table and look like I’ve been attacked by my neighbour’s litter of kittens.

As we sat in the booth like two zombies, propped up only by the promise of food, the atmosphere began to run flat. I like my conversations with men to run ocean deep, and this one was barely a puddle. Not that I was entirely blameless, even when he did murmur the occasional random comment, I’d either be too busy picturing him as a giant burrito to reply, or I’d go off on a tangent completely unrelated to what we were originally talking about.

The most interesting part of the night was when this guywith a shaved head in a boob tube and high-waisted skirt appeared from under one of the tables with one shoe on. But when security tried to drag her limping ass to the kerb, she resisted. And when they asked if she was looking for anything, she replied: “my wig”.

So we both ate until we were uncomfortably full and then complained about how tired we were. Sexy. We were both quite clearly wishing we’d ordered the food in, and stayed in bed. Alone. The date lasted less than an hour and a half. Which, if you’re unfamiliar with the dating norm, is the equivalent of a ‘quickie’. Frequently known as a car crash (no pun intended). Turns out he demolishes small talk as well as other vehicles.

It’s so comical when there’s so obviously no attraction there. You do the awkward “I’ll text you” dance with absolutely zero conviction, and you both know before the lie has even escaped your mouth that you’re never going to see each other again. Not even by accident. So, I thanked him for the ride – as naturally this ratchet bitch don’t drive – before lingering for a moment while deciding whether to just get out the car. I lent in to give him a friendly peck on the cheek, and DON’T THINK he just offered his cheek to me. Erm, did you just pie me out when I was more interested in the Happy Hour to begin with? Was only tryna be nice.

But hey, every cloud (of marijuana) has a silver lining. I may have lost two hours of my life. But I got dinner, stoned and a cocktail the size of Atlanta for $30. So you gotta pick and chose your battles…

…No? Oh. Well it must just be this trashbag in Alaska then. And you thought you behaviour in Subway was embarrassing after a Saturday night on the Tequila — well, Nikki Abrell shits all over that. Oh, and the floor too! No matter how fucked up you’ve gotten, Abrell is still laughing in the face of your weak attempt at being a hot mess.

Apparently Arbell was slightly twisted on “spice”. Police Sergeant Shaun Henry describes the incident, saying:

“People described her as ‘a little crazy.’ She disrobed, went fully nude and kinda just went nuts. Started breaking furniture, destroyed the store, knocked over computers, ripped the ceiling down, sprayed a fire extinguisher all over, locked herself in the bathroom for a while, broke just about everything you could find.”

With damages allegedy worth $20,000. Damn, that’s some expensive trip. While an employee revealed he found a turd on the floor; as if during all this chaos she still had time to coil out a foot-long. After being transferred to hospital, the docs said she was tripping balls on spice. And there’s all y’all lot wasting your wages on alloy cleaner — time to get your money’s worth?

Well, she “had it her way” but now she’s being charged with criminal damage, and on $10,000 bail. wouldn’t worry too much though, you can get spice behind bars.

[H/T: Viral Thread]

I’ve seen loads of posts online from people that have accidentally got texted by some random. I used to question how this happened to so many people, but it turns out in the U.S. they recycle phone numbers as much as plastic bottles. So when it happened to me, OBVS I went along with it. Then, for a little more authenticity, I typed the girl’s number into Facebook to find out her name… Sorry Evie.

Anybody who tunes into Fox’s mega-Hip-Hop-drama Empire, will know Jussie Smollett as gay character Jamal Lyon. And while we may not see as much of him as we’d like on the show, perhaps he makes up for that in his personal life. We so used to seeing him play the naive sweetheart, but you best believe there’s a dick-flaunting-selfie-taker buried inside. MHMM…

There’s a lot to be said for studly eye candy. But add to that a bundle of tatts and it just makes us instant putty. What can we say? We like a bad boy as much as the next rebellious princess. *Runs away from home to ride magic mopeds carpets with hood rats*. Let’s be real, the only thing we like our man to be wearing in the boudoir is his sleeve, ladies am I right? Ogle away, you’re welcome, etc, etc, etc…

1. HOLLA, You can come trim my bushes anytime bruv

IG: @hale101

2. Sleepy or stoned? Either way, open up those blankets, boo.

IG: @crossfit_enthusiast

3. Sssh? Oh, we can be quiet…

@alex_ro933

4. Shower not necessary: already wet

IG: @dk_fitness93

5. We’re ready to dive in… WBU?

IG: @mylesleask

6. Yeah, we’re watching those pecs too…

@ozzy_forbidden

7. Give us a ride…

@james_physique

8. HOLY MOLY

IG: @racielcastro

9. What’s that written on yo’ chest? Directions to my yard? 

IG: @_a_baily_

10. Camouflage? Who you hiding from, bae?

@mikechabot44

11. Why you looking at that art when there’s a Mona Lisa over here ogling that bod?

IG: @travistardiff

12. Hey Lotan… Couldn’t build this list without you, could we?

IG: @lotancarter_89

13. Want help applying oil?

@andrewengland88

14. Belts are such an irrelevant accessory:

IG: @travbeachboy

15. Sexy ink makes us wink

IG: @daltonjackson

16. Navy Jack is the fave

IG: @navyjack

17. Take out the earphones, we’ll whisper sweet nothings in yo’ ear

@kanefitnice

18. *Insert pun about pussy*

19. Tattoos and Ben & Jerry’s… Put a ring on it, stud

IG: @king_andy89

20. *FAINTS*

IG: @colinwayne1

21. We’d almost feel about messin’ up that perfect ‘do

IG: @erkojun

22. Netflix and chill never looked so good… 

IG: @eyeball_2015_

23. Now that’s what we call a HOT tub

IG: @mrinkcredible

24. Blue eyes got our attention. Blue eyes and tatts got us naked. 

IG: @iheartman

25. Yeah you proof that dick pic before you DM us… 

IG: @alexmichaelturner

26. Just as well we like our boys dirty… *smirk*

27. Yeah, we’re sweating too…

28. “My neck, my back, lick my bussy and my tatts…”  

29. You know what they say, double sleeve makes them weak at the knees

IG: @mitch_mckersie

30. YEAH, you text that bitch and tell her you’re busy… 

YOU’RE WELCOME.

She won’t ever go out with anyone other than these gay male friends, turns down invitiations from friends etc., apart from family friends, doesn’t even want to spend time with me, doing “couple-y” things, but I do.

She’s always going to gay bars with the male friends, and very rarely anywhere else and refuses to let me come with her, claims I wouldnt like it, I wouldnt get on with them but that argument seems weird to me. Surely if theyre good people their sexualitys not an issue?. It’s very odd this behaviour and I just can’t understand why she does this.

I’m not against her having a good time or jealous of her being with other men, it’s how she ends up afterwards that I’m concerned about. She always ends up with either a bruised leg, a sore stomach, a grazed knee, or struggles to stand up, let alone walk and has to be helped by one of her friends, or comes in so drunk her speech is slurred… always after these nights out.

She does this every Friday and Saturday night and only rarely spends a night in with me. Why is she like this. Please help me deal with the situation, I just can’t cope with this.

Dear Dud,

The reasoning behind your wife’s decision is quite simple… gay men are fabulous. Far more fabulous than the straight-laced middle-class girlfriends that she knows from her humdrum childhood. Also FYI, “couple-y” things, are boring as fuck. Sorry honey, but you’ve snagged yourself an A-grade hag. And ain’t no fag hag wanna sip English tea and eat crustless cucumber sandwiches on a Sunday afternoon when she can be gurning her face off at a chill out watching her camp crew stumble around in size .

The fact that she refuses to let you come with her, means she doesn’t want you cramping her style. After all, you gotta remember she’s surrounded by a gaggle of deluded queens 24/7 so she probably thinks she’s something special now, even when she’s walking through the village with her heels in her hand all alone because her friends have ditched her for Grindr links. That is, unless you’re ugly, dull or a bad dresser, then the bitch has a point.

Either that or she’s getting herself in such a state she doesn’t want you to see; which by the sounds of her injuries, is most certainly the case. But hey, perhaps if you pounded that pussy so hard she struggled to walk she wouldn’t be hanging round with a bunch of fairies. To be fair though, you’re lucky she’s coming home to same night drunk, and not three days later with a stomach ulcer from ingesting an entire pharmaceutical company. I’d just use the opportunity to take advantage of her, if she’s gonna come home slobbering everywhere, she might as well do it on your dick.

And of course, you’re not jealous of her hanging round with other men, because you know none of them would poke her if their life depended on it. There’s a number of reasons why she doesn’t spend time with you, perhaps she just values the company of care-free guys. Then again, perhaps it’s the seven year itch; something women don’t experience when you’re seven inches deep inside them. Or, of course, it could be as simple as her being a wild child not wanting to ride a brain-dead pony (no offence).

SO, you need to decide… Is this trashy-ass raver The One? If not, then let her run wild into the vortex of the gay scene and live a fun-filled life until she realises that the strobe lights are as bright as her future and she’ll be 64 years-old telling uninterested club kids about how things were much better “back in the day”.

If she is, however, then you gotta up your game, honey-child. This one sounds like she’s not ready to settle for Dominoes and watching Eastenders… I’d say, start going out with an even wilder gay gang and start making her jeal. Or, have an affair; she’ll soon start paying attention.

Good luck! Xoxo

Remember that nude scene where Channing Tatum flaunted that delectable bubble butt for Magic Mike? Of course you do. It’s engrained in everyone’s memory. How could it not be? Well, as his co-star Matt Bomer spoke recently wearing a ‘cock sock’ for his nude scenes of AHS:Hotel, it turns out the boys have that in common… As evidentially Tatum sported one for that scene. We were so hypnotised by the booty we didn’t even notice the near-cock-shot… Close: but no cigars!

And incase you wanna ogle the butt some more…

Ever wanted to peep inside the NFL player’s locker room? Well, this is probably as close as you’re gonna get. During an interview with Adam Jones for Cincinnati Bengals, his teammates were totally comfortable with the cameras rolling while they dropped towel. Between this, and Brendan Schaub in a jockstrap, we think that sports reporting may be becoming our new fave kind of TV…

[H/T: NNN]