When I Found Out I Was Sexiest

What a day it was. The clouds dripped into my eyes and the sun fanned me with gold. The neighbors gawked considerably as I strutted, and the rotary dial was gyrating at a speedy clip. Reporters and would-be hangers-on were treating my corded communications apparatus like it was their personal inflatable beach ball, blowing it up and hitting it up to the nth degree. Palm trees that on other days might let loose their woody cannonballs and split my cranium, today bowed before me, and begged me for a sip of juice from within my husk.

John Walsh strode by and bowed to me. I received a telegram from Marvin Hamlisch’s estate, begging me to notarize his legal briefs. Being a man who wears boxers, I declined. By wearing boxers, I do not refer to the undergarment cut from cotton with a trapdoor, rather, the canines, which mold nicely to one’s pelvis. Being a man with a moldy pelvis, the canids melded exquisitely to my thighs.

Being a man with bulging thighs, the canines were not long for the world. And besides, I was bound for stardom. For on this day, I was designated Sexiest Man Alive.

sexiest man alive background
sexiest man alive background

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