Look at little Cliff Richard off-of the baby Jesus in his Banana Republic chinos and Rab C Nesbitt-stylee string vest with the sun shining out of his head and showtunes strumming out of his arse after a month-long diet of creatine-based treats and ham.
He look hot, no? Blame it on the dappling effect of a perforated vest, blame it on the white spots on our eyes owing to years of poppers abuse (it ain’t abuse if you say please and thank you, right?) but that body is reminiscent of
a young Diana Ross someone we wouldn’t mind brushing against down MegaWoof (‘Oops, is that our hand down your pants or are you just happy to have a hand down your pants?). That was three downs that was. One more and an eider and we’ve got the perfect night’s sleep…
Backintotheroom. Cliff Richard off-of Cliff Richards is here gracing the cover of his very own calendar circa 2010. Wholly inappropriate clothing for a man of her years? Maybe. Enough to get us frothing at the fanny? Probably.
Wait till you get a gander of June…!
ps. Now he’s got the moon shining out of his head. Is there no end to this man’s celestial-based talents? Maybe he is the baby Cheeses after all.
*makes the sign of the cross*