I’m highly skeptical. I played Battleship as a kid. A lot. I had to beg my family members to indulge me over and over. And then one day it occurred to me: this game is seriously boring. So when I hear that there’s a movie in the making based on the Hasbro game, Battleship, I’m highly skeptical.
Enter Alexander Skarsgård as a naval officer idolized by his younger brother played by Taylor Kitsch, who I know only as Gambit though I realize he’s made Cosmo girls swoon in many more places than that.
Whatever. Bring the brother on brother forbidden fantasy that we all share (don’t try to deny it), or go home with this one. There’s going to have to be major skin to make me buy a movie ticket to a game based on such riveting dialogue as “E-4…. miss…….. J-8…… miss…..”
Even for my favorite fanged 6’4″ Swedish adonis, I’m highly skeptical.
Is there anything to be said that hasn’t already been said eloquently? Squarehippies calls it the best premiere ever. Superhero raves, “Epic and hilarious and damn sexy!” Dlisted says that the season opener of True Blood was produced by his wet dreams.
I say Alan Ball is a genius. Nearly every sweet hunk regular on the show displayed significant amounts of skin. It’s like a hunting ought to be: no wasted flesh. To start with, I need to linger on my favorite scene of the night, and one of my favorite images of all time. 6’4″ Swedish adonis, Alexander Skarsgård, beautifully bare-assed.
The camera was making love to Alexander throughout this episode, which seems appropriate for the 6 hour fuck fest that his character was supposed to have been engaged in. The close ups, the naked rearview, the low-slung leisure wear later on… this man is incredible. The promise of even more explicit scenes to come this season is making me a little numb. He’s also amazing in this character (and not just for the skin). Alexander is skillfully playing both inhumanly cold and calculating with subtle twinges of vulnerability. Alexander has shown up three times in my wrestling fiction, twice in action, but never bare-assed. That must be remedied, and this is just the inspiration to make that happen.
Next, let’s move on to Stephen Moyer and Sam Trammell, co-starring in the homoerotic fantasy of Sam’s character. Pec to pec, this pair is indeed the stuff of fantasies. As Stephen’s character promises that a tandem shower will be a real good time, both Sam and I swoon just a little, entirely convinced. Like Alexander, Stephen and Sam have made an appearance in my wrestling fiction fantasies, appropriately enough in a tag team match taking on werewolf and vampire buddies on Being Human, Russell Tovey and Aidan Turner. There was no tandem shower scene in that fantasy, so True Blood yet again drives my imagination to new heights.
Finally, let’s linger a while on the ridiculously gorgeous bubble butt of Bon Temps favorite muscle slut, played by Ryan Kwanten. In the season premiere, Ryan is unable to get it up for two naked women working him over simultaneously. There’s a whole story line that makes this sensical, but I think a much better story line would be to see Moyer and Trammell show up after their steamy shower and satisfy blueballed Jason like only two big, hard hunks can. And just to round out my homoerotic wrestling fantasy fascination with the golden cast of True Blood, Ryan appears in three of my fictional wrestling matches, starting with losing all self-control as Jamie Bamber bearhugged Ryan into a frot frenzy.
Hell, True Blood is employing the talent so well, the real thing is starting to catch up with my homoerotic imagination! I predict that I will be up to the challenge, though, with more full contact, full frontal wrestling action to come for every single one of the True Blood regulars. And did I mention that Alan Ball is a genius?
True Blood Season 3 is rapidly approaching, and I’m already getting a little breathless. This interview of Joe Manganiello is pushing me into “swooning” territory. This is one huge, muscled, gorgeously bearded man discussing tackling people wearing only a sock on his cock. Get out of my way, Anna, because if you aren’t up for taking that hit, I am!!
Excuse me while I pick up my jaw and wipe the drool from my chin (and adjust my pants).
Is Alan Ball out there somewhere reading this blog? If not, I think he clearly should be. He’s so obviously one of us, and I mean that in every way possible.
So let’s just assume that Alan Ball is, in fact, reading this. In which case, I have to make a desperate plea for a rip-n-strip fight scene between Joe and Alexander Skarsgård for loser-gets-fucked/winner-gets-worshiped stakes. A 6’5″ bearded Italian American with slabs of muscle taking on a 6’4″ blond Swede oozing sexuality?
Excuse me, I need to adjust myself again.
Alexander is also a study in scruff. I think Hollywood must have a shortage of razors, considering the prevalence of stubble everywhere. Alexander’s beard is a bit sketchy. Some beards just don’t grow in as well as others. Alexander’s is patchy and not altogether value added, I think.
Case in point that not all facial hair gets my vote. Also, case in point that I’d sell a kidney to buy the opportunity to have this 6’4″ Swedish stunner pick me off my feet in a bearhug (hope he doesn’t mind me cumming on his abdomen).
Speaking of Alexander and bearhugs, he’s made three appearances in my wrestling fiction, though only two featured in the ring/on the mats. In the Producer’s Ring he is undefeated, savagely dominant, and chomping at the bit for more shots at propelling his career to greater heights.
In my imagination, Alexander as wrestler is a total ball basher. Interestingly, in this world, at least one fan couldn’t help herself from grabbing a handful of his crotch, not unlike his performances in the Producer’s Ring. From the pics of this scene from Just Jared, Alexander looks pretty nonplussed by the crotch grab, which only adds to my fixation on his performance as a ball bashing, cock torturing, so-far-unstoppable Swedish buzzsaw. I love battlers with balls of steel (e.g., Chip Slater).
Apparently a new teaser for True Blood shows Alexander shirtless, ripped, and potentially entirely naked. Just the thought makes my heart race and my head a little light. This is a man of my fantasies, indeed.
Work is a buzz saw for the next few days, so I’m going to try to pace myself on my posts. Small bites. Less phenomenology. More sane time for me. With that in mind, I want to concisely marvel in anticipation at a new promo shot for the third season of True Blood, which will premiere in a couple of months.
Thank God for Swedes. Thank God for a little less bleach in Alexander’s hair, also. And while we’re at it, thank God for his gorgeous, giant, muscled body, and in particular those rippled, mile-wide shoulders. As if True Blood requires any more fantasizing, I have been unable to resist writing in several of its stars into my celebrity wrestling fiction. Alexander, of course, has made two appearances, showcasing himself as even stronger and more merciless and sadistic than Eric Northman. Stephen Moyer and Sam Trammell tag teamed for a sweet match that garnered little attention from the fans, but it’s one that I actually enjoy quite a lot. Ryan Kwanten required some personal tutelage in the demanding world of homoerotic wrestling in the Producer’s Ring. What can I say? Alan Ball keeps picking the beef that I’ve got a hankering for. Can…. not… wait… until June 13.
Enough for now.
On a day set aside for giving thanks, I’m counting my blessings. I’m thankful for this bizarre discipline I accepted for myself to write this blog and publish some of my fiction online. It’s a vulnerable, annoying, enriching and rewarding endeavor.
I’m thankful for ring rookies David Taylor, Tyrell Tomsen, Kid Karisma and Rio Garza who’ve climbed into the ring in the past several months and laid claim to my imagination. For their poundable pecs and astounding asses, for their breathtaking biceps and crushing quads (and BG East’s generous permission to post their photos), I’m truly grateful. And for David and Tyrell’s phenomenal phalluses, I can’t say how happy they make me.
I’m thankful this year that Mitch Colby likes, and likes to pound, men. For all his sweat-soaked suffering and his growing accomplishment at putting younger punks in their place, I’m filled with gratitude.
Finally, for all the kind friends and gentle critics I’ve met online through this blog and my wrestling fiction, I’m thankful. I hope you all are surrounded by friendship and love today.
I don’t quite get Twilight. I’m not proud of it. I’m not trying to convince anyone how cool I am because I’m more evolved than the mass of fans (including more than a few gay ones) wetting themselves in anticipation of the next movie.
The meat selection is entirely decent. Robert Pattinson (painted on abs or not), is a looker. Someone needs to either give him a serious haircut or throw him around by a couple fistfuls of those locks before power slamming him to a wrestling mat (frankly, either option is okay with me), but still, he’s clearly got the hot-if-perhaps-overexposed factor.
Kellan Lutz also clearly has all the pieces lined up nicely. Pretty, round pecs and full lips can’t steer you too wrong. And it’s a vampire and werewolf storyline, for God’s sake! I get weak in the knees when I see Alexander Skarsgård’s fangs pop out in True Blood, and Russell Tovey stripping off his shirt just before he does it doggy-style quite literally makes me salivate.
But I just can’t get myself to be seriously into Twilight. John Savage has the Twilight boys mixing it up in the ring in his Arena Island Celebrity Wrestling group, and those matches are hands down hot. But I just can’t generate any genuine passion for the boys of Twilight.
I’m happy to have more shirtless, hottie hunks coming up the ranks as media darlings. Perhaps someday I’ll catch the Twilight bug and awake from this malaise. But for now, for me, I’m leaving the dudes of Forks to the pre-teen girls (and to you). You can enjoy my share.