How long will we tolerate this travesty? It’s time for the world at large (and People magazine in particular) to acknowledge that I am the Sexiest Man Alive. I, and no other.
What’s that? You doubt me?
Can it be possible?
Take a gander at that fine cartoon of my noble likeness, up there in the left-hand corner of this page. Note the scruffy black hair. (OK, in real life it’s actually dark brown with, um, lotsa grey in it. Just because there’s a little snow on the roof doesn’t mean the Furnace of Love isn’t still burning hot, baby. That’s right.) Gaze into the beady green eyes, like unto a pair of Lesueur peas peas floating in pools of cream of tomato soup. Dig the crazy bags underneath those heavenly orbs; yes, I’m packed and ready to go! Swoon over the Emmett Kelly nose, the lips like cherry-flavored gummi worms, the devil-may-care soul patch (guaranteed to be mostly free of food crumbs and/or vermin). Add to my
ragged rugged good looks the sartorial savoir-faire of Curly Howard, the speaking voice of an inebriated Larry Fine, and the grace and tact of Moe Howard, and you will have no choice but to agree: I am the Sexiest Man Alive Or Dead!
Truly, Science Girl is the most fortunate of women.