This fella-me-lad dropped trou’, revealed a rather startling tan line (see, for this reason and this reason alone, one should stick to a Speedo so help us god. And when we say god, obviously we shake our heads sagely at the same time. Perhaps, even, as we shake our heads sagely, we also have a wry smile on our faces. God? Like, durrrr), and went for a stroll around centre court at the Australian Open. And no, we have no idea whether the Australian Open has a ‘centre court’ or not. Nor do we have any interest in finding out. We also have no idea whether Australian Open is a place – much like Hampstead Heath or Clapham Common or Open All Hours – or what they’re calling the auditions for Australian X Factor. And yes, we are just playing on the cliché that gays have no idea about sport.
Or do they?
Anyway, trot apres the jump to see Mr Streaker’s real life penis. His back bottom’s over there too. We know, we spoil you rotten. ROTTEN.