Added: 946 days ago by Kevin Holmes | Posted in: Celebs | 8 Comments

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<div align='center'><a href='http://www.kontraband.com/blog/19903/True-Bromance/'>True Bromance</a><br><div align='center'></div><br><a href='http://www.kontraband.com/blog'>See more like this on kontraband.com</a></div>

So, let's look at something that'll make heterosexual men the world over uncomfortable, let's look at the world's most fanciable men, living or dead. Let's put aside our prejudices and childish aspersions, as long as balls don't touch we're OK. So who are the world's hottest men-babes? The mabes. Don't be shy, I'll start us off by listing a few.

In the silver fox category we have George Clooney jostling for space with Schean Schonnery, both men exude maturity, sophistication and greying pubes. Sean seems to get more palatable with age, like an ill-conceived war. By the time he's a 100, if he makes it that far, he'll be like a walking bag of pheromone-exuding skin, making women cream their pants just by growing a new ear hair or wet-farting Auld Lang Syne. Personally I prefer George, he seems like he'd be a good laugh and you could share a post-coital spliff cos he's a f#cking liberal. Plus you could spend long summers at his villa on Lake Como. Paradiso.

Next up pop/rock stars, I'm going to throw Elvis into the equation. I'm talking a young Elvis when he first hit the scene back in the 1950s, looking like a baby-faced, doe-eyed, greasy-haired morally corrupting sex-god, swivelling those snake-hips at the female audience and making them tear their hair out with teenage longing and primordial lust. This was obviously before he discovered that the burger was the secret of the universe and he'd fly from Tennessee to Colorado to eat a sandwich that consisted of a hollowed out loaf of bread with a whole jar of peanut butter, jelly and a pound of bacon. I refer to it as the colon clogger, as did his colon. A sandwich that any mere mortal's arteries would spontaneously combust just from looking at it. Also in the pop star category we have Rod Stewart, a man whose pants were so tight that back in the 70s women would become pregnant just from watching him on TV (it was rumoured at the time that he was responsible for 1 in 5 births the world over). Him and Tom Jones used to have a little wager on who could get them the tightest. I think it's safe to say, from the vantage point of history, that Rod won that one. And he's still going, God bless him, the pants still as tight.

From the 70s to the 80s, the hirsute decade as it was known. A decade that gave us the hairy bear-god that is The Hoff. Ah, to lay my weary head down on that soft, downy rug of a chest and let the day's troubles wash over me like the soothing blue waves of the Pacific Ocean lapping up to the beaches of Los Angeles county, which David would patrol in those fetching orange shorts with one of those weird rescue cans they'd carry, which were no help to anyone, least of all a drowning child. A man who - even when drenched in his own ethanol-like urine surrounded by his traumatized weeping spawn because daddy has, yet again, fallen asleep blind drunk on the kitchen floor - still oozes more sex appeal than a thousand Chippendales in a thousand firemen's uniforms. To sit at the drive-in movies in his car KITT, his arm gentling resting on my shoulders when KITT interrupts us with one of his always hilarious wisecracks breaking the sexual tension as we all laugh, throwing our heads back in unified joy. Don't hassle the Hoff, indeed.

After that little digression let's move on to Johnny Depp, a man-boy who has eternally young looks, even when he's dressed like someone's dragged him through a tramp's vomit - backwards - then used him to clean a public toilet. Still, somehow, he manages to look youthful and boyish. But that's what happens when you sell your soul to Vanessa Paradis, she'll grant you anything. Another scholar in the loony school of method acting is Brad Pitt, who's next on the list. We all know Angelina's no good for him, bullying him, crushing the crazy life out of him with her constant demands for a bigger more "internationally diverse" family. Why don't you marry the African continent then Ange? Huh? And leave Brad out of it to smoke weed and screw his co-stars. While we're on the pretty boys how's about David Beckham? A little too pretty perhaps? And that voice would get infuriating. He sounds like he couldn't outsmart a mentally retarded Teletubbie, but he can wear Armani, can't he? And that's what really counts.

For those amongst us who can read, the literary legend, the maverick wordsmith, the always encouraging Hunter S. Thompson. One for the thinkers, the intellectuals, plus no one can look quite so charming in a pair of aviators while threateningly waving a .357 magnum in your face and muttering inanely about those goddamn bats that keep circling like vultures. If you don't find his wisdom, anarchy and binge mentality attractive then you're no human I'd recognise.

And finally, with a slight sadness that it's all over, Clive Owen - the man who would be Bond if that blonde-haired tart hadn't robbed him of it. Those searing eyes of his that command your attention, serenading you, no, hypnotising you. Who doesn't want to crawl into his muscular arms and be told everything's going to be just fine. Just fine.

I know people are going to say, where the hell's Robert Pattison, but any man whose manhood looks like a mini-milk covered in glitter is off the goddamn list. Remember, never wink at a woman with big hands.

Added: 946 days ago by Kevin Holmes | Posted in: Celebs | 8 Comments

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