Big payoff at 2:40.

More 100% hetero barracks antics courtesy of the Not Gay American Military.

Some truly elaborate gay porn lead-in action. It’s like upright Twister.

The guy in yellow presents like a fucking mandrill!

Happy belatedly birthday to Rob Corddry, bemused gay heartthrob — emblematic of the burgeoning “Young Daddy” type — who’s always able to expertly tread the fine line between sexist macho douchery and fraught closet case neurosis.

I’d personally love to be sexually harassed by Rob on the job — as resident literal clown Dr. Blake Downs on Children’s Hospital, when he isn’t trying to get with the show’s various nubile female hospital staffers, he’s forever failing to save lives with the healing power of laughter — and can’t help picture him topping metasex manslut Joel McHale from Community. That would be the most sardonic, irony-dripping grudge fuck ever.

So kudos to Rob, who I suspect deep down loves being sexually objectified in a manner he can’t quite wrap his head around.

Unintelligible sexual discord kind of makes me hot…

This month’s Men’s Fitness — the rare glorified spank rag so content-free that you can’t even lie convincingly about reading it for the articles — features LL Cool J talkin’ sweet and lookin’ fine, and that’s OK by me.

LL is the rare rapper who’s not a full-of-himself douche who spouts misogynist bullshit, does time every six months, and loses all of his cash to his mercenary entourage. Admittedly, I would rather personally reenact the pit of syringes sequence from Saw 2 than watch his parade of stunningly terrible movies, but the man does come off as smart, appealing, sexy, and — dare I? — nice.

LL has long claimed that his bangin’ bod is completely natural and achieved through strictly above-board means, and while I don’t buy it, I’d still pretend if it gets me into his pants. Awww yeah…

Here’s LL and his zero percent body fat personal cathedral getting spoofed on MadTV:

My rightful hubby Daniel Greene — who was the truck driver on Falcon Crest who fell for Emma Channing and got his hot ass killed by an earthquake — in the Italian schlock epic Hands of Steel, gloriously oiled- and pumped-up as an ass-kickin’ Tin Man who’s Not. Taking. Shit.

This is my ideal man: chivalrous, born to wear cut-off shirts, an environmentally-friendly marvel of hybrid technology, sporting a rack you could chip a tooth on, and willing to kill on a dime.

The blonde chick is just a superfluous stand-in.

It’s really my honor he’s defending from all those nasty, nasty men.

This is the sort of Glamour Shots by way of Frederick’s of Hollywood elegance that only Sheena Easton, Kelly LeBrock, Vanity, or a Landers Sister circa 1985 could pull off. Bonus points for the subtle phallic imagery and reverse sexism, and for the blond with the bleached crew cut who looks like the condom broke when Dolph Lundgren and Brigitte Nielsen had a brief fling — the combined effects of their Aryan super genes producing a being not quite of this mortal coil.

More plunging necklines and cavernous cleavage than a freakin’ Russ Meyer movie.

I’m here to talk about bimbos!

Biblical bimbos!

Photogenic Mormons are doffing their tops for the good of their faith. And I’m conflicted.

Sure, there’s no better score than a guy with self-esteem problems — the sort of “issues” that cause him to seek out religion and beefcake photography. Yet still, I can’t help feeling skeptical.

Under the aegis of its parent company Mormons Exposed (I kid you not), the Men On A Mission Calendar features “twelve handsome former missionaries who have dared to pose bare-chested.”

The project is supposed to be all about the spiritual beauty that comes from within, not just trading in sculpted torsos and great abs. The copy writes itself:

“Rod loves his position as a missionary, spends hours on his knees, and will give you the shirt off his back. Turn-ons include topless testifying, constitutional amendments, and tending to the lepers.”

Have a listen to the venture’s co-founder and producer Chad Hardy as he elaborates on the calendars raison d’etre and try to keep a straight face: (read the full article)

A lovely tribute to Merlin, boasting one of TV’s best crypto-gay pairings that with-it fans have taken to dubbing “Brokeback Camelot.”

A reluctant gay pin-up of yesteryear is officially clink-bound as of this month.

Scott Madsen, the iconic ’80s spokesomodel for Soloflex, now 48, was sentenced in mid-January to two years in the big house for getting creative with the cash flow of Adair Financial Services in Washington during his tenure as General Manager — as in pocketing 250K for himself. Sounds like a great subplot from season four of Oz, and assuming he won’t be doing time in a country club prison, if Madsen still commands fanfare on the inside, he’s either got a ready-made gang to fall in with or staring down a serious boning for old time’s sake.

Like Lucky Vanous or Fabio after him, Madsen was the rare case of a fitness model achieving name recognition with an audience who may or may not actually be buying the product he’s selling. He’d been a one-time Oregon high school gymnast and college drop-out who answered an ad for a fledgling fitness company and found himself plucked out of obscurity, becoming the face of a nationwide ad campaign for Soloflex beginning in 1984, a now-venerated print ad featuring Madsen doffing his tank running in Newsweek.

That same year, Oregon Magazine dubbed him “[a] man-child in a promising land,” and “a teen heartthrob profiled in the pages of ‘Tiger Beat,’ a pin-up boy in San Francisco’s gay bars and a symbol of commercial success sought after by Richard Avedon, Christian Dior and Universal Studios.”

Day-um! That’s good copy! (read the full article)

I complain a lot about straight men, but I will go on record saying that I appreciate the fact that when they throw down, the have the good sense to tear off their shirts and the foresight to oil up in advance.