I swear to God, I once wet the bed at the age of three because of an image like that. I had a doll that looked like that thing, and it came alive and ate my baby brother. That exact creature lived in the basement of my primary school, and feasted on the bones of children who didn't eat their mashed potato. I think that I once -
Okay, yeah. You get the picture. That's a creepy looking Loki.
But the Loki I am interested looks much more like this:
And suddenly I'm kind of wanting him to be a doll that comes alive and tries to eat me. But when I say that, I obviously mean the good kind of eat. You know, the sort that features much less gnawing on bones and a lot more face-planting between my legs.
I mean, he's just amazeballs in Thor. The movie itself is kind of boring and Thor looks like someone squeezed his face too hard and then sneezed Cheeto dust all over him, but Tom Hiddleston as Loki is divine. He anguishes. Which isn't even the right word, but it just fits better than angsts because angsts sounds plebian and Tom Hiddleston is all refined and he went to Cambridge and studied old dead people and he probably rows a boat on a sunlit river while reading the Telegraph I dunno.
He plays Loki with all the commitment of a first year student at RADA, only really good. His eyes are haunted, he cries, he does it all while looking like Lt Cmdr Data only even more impossibly handsome and also normal coloured.
Plus, he wears a lot of leather and knee high boots and big helmets, and you all know how much I adore big helmets. I adore them almost as much as all the crying he does, about Daddy never loving him as much as Thor. I just wanted to go to him and hold him close to my vagi- my breast and tell him everything was going to be all right.
He's just flawless and perfectly my type. In fact, he's so perfectly my type that before we even watched the movie I saw a picture of him next to Thor looking all big-eyed and dark-haired and Husband said: you're going to come out of the cinema fancying that guy's pants off.
And I did. I fancied his pants off so hard that he spent an entire scene opposite Anthony Hopkins with his cock flapping in the Asgardian breeze.
But wait. Wait. There is one problem with this crush. Because although Loki is absolutely gorgeous and sensitive and viscious and all of the things I love, in real life Tom Hiddleston is...well. How can I put this delicately?
Not as orsum. I mean, don't get me wrong. He's still achingly attractive. His eyes are beautiful, his cheekbones are exquisite. He's lovely and funny in interviews and polite in a way that makes my vagina sit up and bark like a dog.
But the thing is...he has a massive, massive forehead. I mean - it's immense. Druids could pray to this thing. I don't even know how I failed to notice while watching Loki rend his breast in Thor, because seriously man. It is gargantuan.
Oh - oh what's that? You don't believe me? You think I'm exaggerating? Oh well CHECK IT:
Yeah. What are you saying now? That's right. Nothing.
Well, either that or you're pointing out that I obviously doctored this image with MS Paint. Badly, as usual. But I swear, his forehead is really big. And not only that but he has curly blonde hair, like he just fell out of painting done by some member of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood who didn't realise he was gay yet.
I just can't with that. I could cope with the big forehead - it's probably like one of those rules about comparing feet and hands and nose to cock size, anyway. Only you know, about breadth instead of length. His is three feet wide, probably.
But the curls, the curls. No. No. They agitate me. They make me think of giving his head a Brazilian. I just don't know what to do with this crush. I want to see him in a million things basically being Loki, and instead I get him in bike shorts looking like a cherub in Suburban Shootout.
Come on, Tom. Get it together. You and Michael Fassbender in a film where you both have the exact same haircut and then have weird incesty clone sex - make it happen.
Make it happen and I'll love you forever, I swear.
Well. I'll love you until next Monday, at least.
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