Toothy Tile, per usual, is in not just in considerable company, but in esteemed sexually inhibited company. But first I've got to get something off my chest (or rump, as it were):
Why are American men so damn afraid of their butts? Gay and straight, mind you. Damn, tons of my hetero girlfriends tell me they so much as sneak a little, manicured index finger toward the boyfriend's derriere and wham, that little digital mission gets shut down somethin' pronto!
Not so every male in Hollywood (or the world, mind you). That's fer sure. Take Wave Ridden, for ince. He keeps putting out these simple-minded movies (which, nevertheless, keep earning sizable bucks at the box office) all while pretending to trot around a girlfriend, but she holds that position in name only, I assure you.
W.R.'s preferred position is the one Ang Lee infamously afforded us in that Brokeback Mountain pup-tent love scene. Be it with a guy providing the real-life anatomical McCoy or a gal with the synthetic-molded version.
Too funny: Wave, a dude who's really much less charming than is our beloved Toothy, even picks up his equal-opportunity partners in the most plebian of places: mall parking lots, busy Hollywood streets, drugstores--less so fancy-schmancy Hell-Ay parties. Now Toothy would love to (and does) have sex at any of the previous places, mind you. The difference? Toothy only does the deed with his slightly snotty b-f; never a stranger, please.
Where does the salacious subterfuge end? How much longer can Wave, who's aging okay (for now), keep up this stupid sound-bite parade with his perky pretend honey?
Friggin' forever, if you ask this jaded goss. I mean, Toothy'll be on the cover of The Advocate, officially declaring his hunky homo-ness, by the time Wave gives up his predictable posing. So boring, really.
AND IT AIN'T: GEORGE CLOONEY, EDDIE MURPHY, CHRISTIAN SLATER
Source: E! Online