Michael C. Hall: B*tch Looks Good at ANY Angle!

Michael C. Hall is one hell of an actor. I love him in "Dexter" and adored him "Six Feet Under." Boy has some serious thespian chops; trust. His preference for darker fare also intrigues me; hopefully, this actor will not "cross-over" into shitty blockbuster roles!

Brother is also built like a brick house. Luckily for his viewers, Mr. Hall does not seem to mind acting in only his underwear or a small towel and he is all too willing to flex those guns and showcase that mean, little ass of his. Is it wrong that I get the chills while watching him inject tranquilizer into his victims' throats? Call me fucked, but I am rooting for Dexter Morgan.

Michael C. Hall's coloring is damned near perfect (at least, if you are an Anglophile such as I). I still cannot figure out his eyecolor, but who fucking cares? He could have cat's eyes and I'd still bone down. I have never, ever seen him look bad. All lights seem to flatter his complexion (which is beautiful) and he looks good in every outfit he wears onscreen or on the red carpet.

He and his co-star, Jennifer Carpenter, recently tied the knot, which I think is just adorable. I can only imagine the heat that must generate between the two of them while on the "Dexter" set.

Check out MCH, and tell me he doesn't look fabu in every photo?

Today's "FUCK YES!" Item

Seriously. Homegirl needs these shoes, stat.

Jemaine Clement: Maori-Wowie!

New Zealander "part Maori, part European" Jemaine Clement is one-half of the adorable comedy duo "Flight of the Conchords." Since landing on our shores in '06, the Conchords have amassed an amazing hipster following from their HBO series and live concerts.

Whenever I meet a fellow FOTC fan, the first question I ask is: "Who is hotter- Jemaine or Brett?" Nine times outa' ten, people choose Brett MacKenzie. Okay, I understand that Brett's features are more of the "traditional" variety, what with the tiny nose, giant eyes and adorable little mouth. To me, however, Jemaine is the man of the hour.

How can you not see it?! He looks like the bastard hybrid of Mick Jagger and Benicio Del Toro! I cannot think of a combo any hotter, sans peanut butter and chocolate. He possesses many of the physical attributes that I like in my men- tall, slightly fucked-up teeth, big lips, the dark hair and light eyes combination and a dazzlingly-generous ass. He also dresses in that cute, hipster,(there's that fuckin' word again.) 70's slacker style that makes me poor heart just about burst. Oh, and then there's the fact that he is a musician. And comedian. And singer. And songwriter. Mi pinche corazon.

In their show, the Conchords come off as naive, but Jemaine's sex appeal is highly evident. I cannot think of many other man who can work a pair of tube socks and shorts like ol' Jemainey-he just .... smolders. Oh, and his darling little Kiwi accent is just heavenly.

If I was ever granted the divine opportunity to meet him, I am not sure I could control myself. I believe I would behave much like Mel, the Conchords' obessesive (and only) fan on the show and follow him everywhere. It's business time, indeed!

Of course, the show would not be nearly as fun without Brett MacKenzie. And no, I would not turn down the opportunity to partake in a Conchords "sandwich!"

Marlon Brando: The Man Had Talent.. And an Epic Ass.

While searching the 'net for photos of Mr. Brando, I stumbled upon one of him that was unlike any other. It showed a side view of what appears to be Marlon's very recognizable face.... with a giant dick in his mouth. Apparently, this picture has been making the rounds for years and somehow traces back to one of his ex -wives. The man whose tool Marlon is servicing allegedly belongs to none other than 1950's television comic, Wally Cox. (Insert your own naaaasty joke here, cuz I ain't gonna' do it!)

Upon watching "A Streetcar Named Desire" for the very first time, I was actually surprised to see that he was remakably handsome. Prior to viewing the classic film, my only exposure to Mr. Brando had been from tabloids or negative news stories about him being 800 pounds or for breaking a bar stool in a soda shop because homeboy's ass was just too big. Sadly, this is what most people think of when I mention Brando--that, or his legal woes later in life due to the antics of his miscreant children.

A few weeks ago, I re-watched "Streetcar" and spent most of the film pausing frames of the man and exclaiming "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..ck", "Christ, what an ASS" or "Why wasn't I alive in 1949? Oh, to have been Rita Moreno!" He was that beautiful. His portrayal of the hateful Stanley Kowalski is so riveting that the viewer becomes completely lost in his performance. One can see why Stella keeps coming back down those stairs when we glimpse Marlon, soaking wet and in a ripped, tight tee-shirt. There, but for the grace of God go I.

You gotta' look fast, though, because in the blink of an eye, Marlon went from Red -Hot Ranger to Sir ChunkStyle. One can start to see that he is sportin' a bigger pants size while watching "The Wild One." This is not a problem for all of those chubby chasers out there (you know who you are!) and admittedly, the man is still sizzlin' -weenie hot. However, there is no comparison to the younger Brando who was painfully handsome in "Streetcar", what with those muscles and beautiful ass....Suddenly, I had this craving for a big plate of sausage and peppers!

Svelte or saggy, Marlon was a wonderful actor. Plus, I really dig eccentric men with odd voices (thus, my Crispin Glover obsession.) As a thespian, Brando paved the way for the many brilliant, method actors who were a generation away, including lumiaries such as Paul Newman, Steve McQueen, Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro and so on.

Of course, the man was a stallion in his day. He sired eleven children and had three wives and also managed to romance the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Cary Grant, Vivien Leigh, Rita Moreno, Ursula Andress and so on. His sexual prowess is legendary, although one ex- lover claimed that he not well endowed. Perhaps that was God's way of balancing things out and preventing sheer pefection? At any rate, the man was goddamned gorgeous.

I suggest that you add "On the Waterfront", "Last Tango in Paris" and "The Fugitive Kind" to your Netflix cue. Make it a triple feature. The amount of pleasure you will derive from his amazing talent and beauty is well worth the viewing.

Dive into the creamy nougat and enjoy the photos of Marlon Brando.

(this post is dedicated to my dearest Ivey Divey)

Adam Yauch: "He's Crafty... And He's Just My Type!

Nine years ago, I lived and worked in a tiny Northern California town called Chico. Eleven hours driving time from Los Angeles and two and a half hours north of San Francisco, this charming little province was populated mostly by students of the University, hippie doctors and lawyers, artists and the elderly.  Work was scarce, but I managed to land a job with a giant healthcare corporation out in the middle of fucking nowhere. 

Surrounded by rice fields and almond orchards, one felt a real sense of isolation--(and relief, having defected from Los Angeles and all of it's hustle and bustle.)  I worked first as a receptionist and then was promoted to the claims department as a customer service specialist. Everyone on the team was as clueless about their job descriptions as I, and we spent most of the day sorting paperwork into random piles, answering calls from angry retirees who had been overcharged for doctor's visits and then transferring said retirees to another department, whose function was never fully explained. 

There was a lot of downtime, so our team would spend the idle hours by sticking notes on one another's backs ("I love mullets!) or pouring salt into each other's coffee.  In this department, I sat behind a young man who was tall and lean with high cheekbones, large, dark eyes and a broody demeanor.  Of course I fell madly in love with him when he started making tapes for me and drawing me pictures.  Homeboy had talent.  The sketches he made for me were usually caricatures of our lame management team whose sole purpose seemed to be sleeping with attractive, young employees.  

Unfortunately, this young man also happened to be Christian.  No, I'm not talking Catholic or Unitarian, but the Pentecostal type that speaks in tongues, prays with their hands in the air and "rocks out" to modern Christian music.  Hymns and masses in Latin, I can handle.  Baptist choirs? I'm all over  it.  Witnessing to non-believers and totally eschewing science and evolution?  Uh, no thanks.  

Soon, we began debating the Bible and organized religion.  All of my attempts to lure him over to the dark and Agnostic place proved impossible, so I did what I thought I had to do to win him over and played the spiritually thirsty student, who was oh-so curious as to the ways of his church. 

That's the crazy thing about love-- one minute you're sticking to your core beliefs and the next you end up singing religious Christmas songs with an overzealous church group to Alzheimer's patients.  It didn't help matters much that before I met up with my fellow carolers, I had taken several bong hits while lying on the back seat of my car.  This undoubtedly caused me to forget the words to "Silent Night, " giggle throughout "The Little Drummer Boy," and repeatedly demand to sing "fun  songs" like Rudolph or Frosty.

Of course, nothing ever came of my love for this young man.  He was firm and confident in his beliefs and I quickly burned out on the prayer meetings where strangers would place their hands on me and scream out to God to save my soul.  Alas, he found himself a young, blond, virginal, Christian gal and the last I heard, they were engaged.  Looking back, I wondered why on earth I had such an attraction to this man.  Surely, I enjoyed his wit, talent and intelligence, but there was an odd familiarity to his looks that I just could not place.

Finally, I figured it out... He resembled, to a "T", Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys.  Adam was always my favorite- the tall, serious, hot guy with the deepest voice out of the trio.  Adam Yauch has been fueling my fantasies since I discovered the Beastie Boys' "Check Your Head" when I was 21 years old.  I listened to that CD obsessively, along with their previous record "Paul's Boutique." I waited outside of Tower Records, in the fucking rain, for the Beastie Boys next CD, ""Ill Communication."  It was not nearly as good as "Check Your Head," but it did continue to offer some fabulous instrumental numbers that showcased the B-Boys' growing talent as musicians.

Adam Yauch was raised Jewish, but is now a practicing Buddhist who raises both cash and consciousness for Tibetan causes.   I find this infinitely more attractive than Born Again Christianity, and I soon realized that the young man whom I adored was no more than a poor man's B-Boy fantasy and not a good match for me.  It was a sad moment of realization, much like watching Star Wars years later and discovering that the special effects were at best, cheesy. The mirage ended, but it's still nice to know that Mr. Yauch is out there, doing his thang and aging quite handsomely.

Pass the mic and check out the pics of handsome MCA.