Oh my God, how long has it been since I last blogged? So long that I've never actually done a Mancandy for Chris Evans, even though I've been macking on his fine ass for the better part of a thousand years. Seriously, there are cave paintings of me, attacking Chris Evans with my ladyboner. They look like this:
Of course, after showing you this I have to now admit that I don't really know what a ladyboner is. In my head it's just a generic term for being extremely excited, but when you're trying to put it into a picture, it gets kind of graphic and weird. No one's going to understand a huge lumpen mound between a cartoon's legs, which is basically what I'd have to draw if we're going with the whole gigantic swollen clitoris option. So I chose, instead, to visually represent it with the holding of a big club over a cowering Chris Evans.
I think it gets the point across nicely. And if it doesn't, just look at something else on the picture - like the other marvellous aspect I chose to focus on. Yeah, you see the weird growth that stick figure Chris Evans appears to have in the general buttocks area? That's not a clitoris ladyboner that fell off me and landed on him.
That's me, trying to encapsulate the wonder that is Chris Evan's ass.
Because believe me, it IS a wonder. Want better proof than a crude drawing of a mutant clitoris?
Inorite? I don't know how to express the joy this simple body part brings me. I'm not even sure why it has such an effect on me. I've seen plenty of men's bottoms, in my time. I've admired an ass or two. But none of them have quite inspired me to the wordless, insane heights that this magnificent thing has.
I think it's something to do with the heft of it. It seems almost bulky, like two bricks in a sock. Only the bricks are squidgy and attached to Captain America - because that's who he's playing in the above screen capture of the only important thing about the movie
They should have just called it "A Million Girls On Tumblr Get Hypnotised By Some Rotating Buttocks". Because if I've managed to upload the gif instead of just an image, that's what you'll be seeing, now. Rotating buttocks. They spin, like the tassels on a showgirl's titties.
And I love them, for that. I love that the cameraman or the director okayed this shot, and kept that lens locked on the only thing that mattered. I love that men's asses actually matter, now. I still remember the day when the camera would pan over Picard's face, and Worf's face, as they ascended a ladder. And then when it got to Troi...suddenly it needed to focus on cleavage.
But now...we live in a world where the camera lingers just as lovingly on Chris Evan's trouser muffins. We live in a world where I can fill a blog post with nothing but rambling praise for these bouncing butt-bosoms, and not even give a single shit!
I don't have to show his face, if I don't want to.
But I will, cos his face is just as orsum as his downstairs doodlebugs.
That's right, Chris Evans. Look at me with that face. LOOK AT ME WITH IT.
Or failing that, look at me with your Captain America face:
Yeah, that's it. Be all bashful with me. Bite that lip, you filthy little virgin!
Because oh, did I not mention that? In Captain America, he plays a massively muscled six foot two inch superhero...who is absolutely one hundred percent a virgin. And not just any kind of virgin, either! A virgin from the 1930s, who honours and reveres women and is totally a fooking old school gentleman.
There will now be a brief intermission, in which I lie very still in a darkened room.*
Of course, if you're a frequent visitor to this blog who hasn't been in ages because I'm an asshole who never updates it, you'll know why I had to have that little lie down. In fact, if you know me in any way at all, either through Twitter or my books or some random comment I made somewhere that sometimes makes you cry at night, you'll totally get what moves me about this version of Captain America.
I love me some big, masculine, heroic virgin mens. And boy, is this one big:
Yeah, check out those boobs. You can't even call them pecs, because they are, literally, a gigantic pair of enormous breasts. They're mantitties. They're dude bosoms. They're enormous shiny pillows of guyflesh, that my head would dearly like to rest upon.
Can you imagine the night's sleep you'd get on those things? Just picture him when he's angry. I bet they heave, like only the chest of a 1970s romance novel heroine can do. If I he were mine, I'd put him in a wonderbra and make him pose for the cover of my next novel:
I Have No Idea Why I Like Giant Muscle-Tits On A Man
Only I do.
It's because it's orsum.
*This may or may not be but definitely is code for me masturbating until my hand falls off. It's possible that this is also an explanation for my giant mutant clitoris.