Here is a still of Olivia Wilde smoking a cigarette topless. You care because it helps you imagine what it’d be like if you just gave her multiple orgasms and she’s now enjoying sucking back on a post-coital smoke and bantering on about some cutsie pillow-talk because she’s still reeling from the afterglow.
I care because I figure that if I ever met her, I could point out how paradoxical it is that she’ll go topless on the big screen in front of millions, but never in public or for a private audience, and that she shouldn’t let society commodify her sexuality that way, and then maybe I could convince her to take off her top for herself (in front of me) because, after all, it’s not like she has anything I don’t or haven’t seen already, anyway.
This is a video of Mila Kunis coming to Justin Timberlake’s defence at a press conference in Moscow. You care because you think that chicks who speak Russian are hot because you imagine that makes them domineering and more likely to want to punish you despite your looks and performance. I care because I figure if Mila did that sex scene in Black Swan, I might be able to dupe her agent into sending her to an audition with me.
This is Samantha Ronson’s mugshot from when she was arrested Monday morning for driving drunk from Vegas to LA, on her way back from DJ’ing gig.
You care because women who have the chutzpah to do the things you think are outlaw-cool but don’t have the balls to do are hot, especially when they’re chick who bang chicks. I care because now she might lose her license or have it suspended or something, so if I ever run into her at a party or in a club, I’ll have an in because I’ll know that she’ll be looking for a ride home, which I can offer after plying her with drinks and putting her in a bad-decision making mindset.
This is a picture of Kelly Rowland getting naked to promote her new album.
You care because whenever a girl uses sex to get something out of you, it helps you believe that one of the things she wants is sex and all you have to do is give her a few other things and slowly work your way towards having her touch your callused, friction burned member.
I care because I have this thing for black chicks that helps me feel better about being a privileged white girl, and I like to think that if I ever met her (or Rihanna) I could play the whole lesbian marginalization card and we could commiserate over a couple G-and-Ts and I could convince her that seeding a few rumours about her being bicurious might help the whole sex-sells angle she’s taking with marketing her music.
This is a picture of the fitness model and former NFL cheerleader Jamie Eason holding a football in one hand and tugging at her short shorts with the other.
You care because hot chicks with bulging triceps makes you think that G*d is going to punish you for hating women by sending some hot, blond Amazon to dominate you in the way that you wish you could have girl nextdoor who never really paid you any attention growing up, except when she needed something — like help with shoveling her car out of the snow or cleaning up after the house party that she threw while her parents were out of town but didn’t invite you to.
I care because any girl who’s put that much time into both her biceps and her appearance is really going out of her way to attract female attention but is still enough of a Barbie doll that she’ll play hard to get in a way where it’ll take two bottles of red before I can get those shorts off so that she can pretend that she was just being experimental and I won’t have to worry about calling her in the morning.
This is a video Aaron Sorkin’s acceptance speech rom last night’s Golden Globe Awards where he speaks directly to his daughter, telling her that “elite” is not a bad word.
And I want to thank all the female nominees tonight for helping demonstrate to my young daughter that elite is not a bad word, it’s an aspirational one. Honey, look around, smart girls have more fun, and you’re one of them.
You care because now a Hollywood cougar is dating someone whose former stage name was John Cougar, which means that you and your friends can make really lame jokes about “how they are fucking to save their species” and “John’s got nail” and “what it sounds like when a mountain lion fakes an orgasm“.
I care because just this past weekend, my girlfriend mentioned in passing how Meg Ryan had had so much plastic surgery that no one in Hollywood would touch her, and now I can hold my head high because I know I’m not alone in having a thing for plasticized cougars.
This is a picture of Scarlett Johansson showing a bit of nipple.
You care because you figure if someone that beautiful and famous is still willing to show a bit of nipple for some extra attention, then she must have some self-validation issues meaning that if you ever did run into her at a party you crashed or in a Vegas elevator, and her bodyguards didn’t immediately stomp you, you might actually have a chance of talking your way between those pouty lips by vascillating between being a complete dick (but the funny kind) and nice guy who only really ever acts out (as a dick) because he’s some kind of tortured genius who just needs a hug.
I care because it’s a picture of Scarlett Johansson’s nipples, and she seems to be looking right at me, and form what I’ve heard, she can be rather experimental, and that makes me thing that maybe, just maybe, this photo here is an experiment to see if she can attract any lesbians who are sufficiently charming and witty to lure her onto the other side of the fence, if only for one night. But alas…
This is a picture of Julianne Moore turning the head of Michael Bager in a recent photo shoot from Allure. Julianne recently turned 50.
You care because there’s a reason why The Graduate and Mrs. Robinson were both smash hits, and it has something to do with how Freud was right, and deep down inside, you want still want to use your mother’s buxom as a pillow, except now you want to fuck her first.
I care because cougars are powerful, majestic creatures with astute hunting skills that have been honed through years of preying on vulnerable, unsuspecting mates, and I figure after all those years of devouring men, she might be looking to try a new flavor.
This is Rihanna coming out of an airport in a sensible, down to earth get-up.
You care because seeing a celebrity dress as casually as you do when you travel makes you think that they’re just normal people, too, and if you ever got upgraded to first-class and found yourself sitting next to one, they would actually enjoy talking to a normal person for once, and find your perspective on things charming and refreshing, and would be so grateful that you helped ground them once again that they’d want to get to know you better, and in ways where they could become intimately familiar with all your bodily imperfections.
I care because, in this picture, Rihanna kind of looks like a black, read-headed version of this chick I used to work with and had a huge crush on, and seeing a picture where a the celebrity looks like my crush (and not vice versa) makes me feel a little less bad about never having worked up the nerve to ask her out.