There are few things in life gayer than a Diana Ross reference combined with bumming. Back-bottom bumming at that. Apply some rouge to the cheeks and a whiff of something Oud-y and it’s the ground floor-plus-“men’s” bags department of Liberty.
And isn’t that store just like a plug socket? Impossible to walk past without getting the urge to stick your finger in…
Talking of fingering, this gennelman is called *checks; forgets; checks again; writes it on a Post It invented by Romy and Michele* Justin Hartley. And whilst we get over the fact that his name is actually spelt how Justin Hartley ought to be spelt – not even an apostrophe between the H and the r – let’s consider him for a moment.
He is in a show called Smallville. Last time we checked, this was a show that five people watched. Which is not only the number of people in a ménage à trois, but the appropriate number for a salad-only buffet, if you remove the croutons.
Secondly, what if Smallville grows? How on earth will they explain that?
Third and fourthly, doesn’t he have moist, well-defined tits? And not an ounce of hair on them. Which, if we’re being really honest, gives us the heebie-jeebies.