Good Morning, Tom Hardy’s Ass


It’s an ugly irony that while our friends on the East Coast are having to deal with Hurricane Earl this weekend, New Orleans is prepping for a beautiful Southern Decadence. Then again, given the fact that two of the last five celebrations have been canceled — thanks to Katrina (2005) and Gustav (2008) — it’ll be nice for everyone to relax and enjoy the festivities without obsessively checking WeatherUnderground. Who knows? I might even leave the house and mosey through the throngs of half-naked menses for a change.

Of course, I won’t be half-naked myself. I’m not Mr. Prim von Properstein, but I can be painfully shy and self-conscious and weird like that when I want to be. I don’t think I’ve even danced shirtless at a club.  Issues.

Also not roaming the streets stripped down (so far as I know)? Tom Hardy. Which is a shame, because he would be a treat for the eyeballs:

Related question: why does watching personal trainers in action make me cringe? All that earnest “Do it, do it, it’s all you man, do it” crap? (Not so much here, but it’s just a matter of degree.) It’s like watching Peep Show or The Comeback: I’m not sure whether to laugh or vomit.

One thought on “Good Morning, Tom Hardy’s Ass

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