More Alpha Dogs

Have you read Joe’s recent post over at Kubla Kong entitled, “My Dear Old Dog?” It’s a fantastic, thoughtful, and eloquent reflection on what a canine companion has to teach us about ourselves and our humanity (and, frankly, theirs as well, I think). My mind keeps wandering back to Joe’s post as my own dog lays her head on my lap and drowses off.

I have to wonder about a man that doesn’t own a dog. It’s not a fatal character flaw to be unconnected to a canine, but it just makes me wonder. Are they just “in between” dogs, still grieving the death of a beloved companion before they open their heart again for a new relationship? Do they travel too much to be capable of proper care of a dog (…get a new job)? Or are they truly flawed, and not drawn to the shared life of the pack?
As I’ve mentioned, having a canine-better-half makes a man exponentially sexier than they otherwise would be. Take for example, Jon Hamm. I know that he makes men and women melt, but for me, I haven’t been entirely sure that he’s lustworthy. He’s been a possibility, but not a certainty for my affections. Then I find pics of him walking his dog, and I have no uncertainty left. He’s a hot, gorgeous man who will be adored.
John Krasinski is another handsome boy that I’ve been on the fence about. I’m immediately drawn to him. He’s one of Squarehippies’ husbands, so clearly his worship worthy. He’s long, lean, hot-yet-cuddly. He has great comedic timing, which I think translates directly to prowess in love-making (just a theory). But is he someone that I can’t help but lust over?
Seeing him playing with his fiesty pup, it convinces me that John is, without a doubt, “my type.”
I’ve been off the fence for quite a while about Ryan Gosling. He’s one of my favorite actors these days, and he’s got an incredible sexual energy about him at all times.
Put a dog at the end of Ryan’s leash, and he’s just hot as hell. Check out the banner pics for this fan site of Ryan’s, and you’ll understand why I say that I’d give my unborn child to trade places with his dog. His depth as an actor, I’m sure, is directly related to his capacity to be loved by his dog. I don’t know the science, but it’s what I know, nonetheless.
On the other hand, I didn’t really think that Bradley Cooper could get any sexier, but seeing him walking a dog does the trick. The fact that Bradley’s beefed up for his role in the new A-Team movie (jury is way out on that one!), doesn’t hurt, either.
Finally, I consider the complex case of Kellan Lutz. He’s quickly carved himself into a musclegod. He’s handsome and hot as hell. And yet… somehow, I’ve not been entirely moved to worship at the feet of his young hardbody. He’s everywhere these days, advertising underwear and showing up in more and more movies. Still, all the pieces haven’t fit for me to recognize him as someone I must lust after.
Then he goes jogging with his dog, and I’m infatuated. In fact, there are photos of Kellan with his dog everywehre. He must be okay.
In response to Joe’s musings on his old dog, I just want to conclude by saying that, as certainly as I know that a man’s comedic timing is directly related to his prowess as a lover, I’m absolutely and unshakably convinced that whatever heaven exists, dogs get to decide who gets in.

Alpha Dogs

I’m venturing into a highly controversial topic today, I realize. I fully expect the hating to begin the moment after many of you read this. But it’s on my mind, and I simply have to name it.
A beautiful man who loves his dog is incredibly hot. A hunk with other animals simply doesn’t do it for me. George Clooney and a pot-bellied pig is more creepy than sexy to me. And don’t get me started on cats. But a gorgeous man with a dog gets his sexy-quotient (SQ) multiplied by at least 10. If he’s shirtless as he’s walking his dog, like Orlando Bloom here, his SQ is multiplied by 20. If it’s a terrier, I have to adjust myself.
The dog-factor in the SQ is pretty indiscriminate. Just love a dog, and a hunk get’s an SQ boost. But some hunks are seriously into their dogs. David Duchovny, the voice of Pedigree, takes pet companionship extremely seriously. He can be bundled up in his puffy coat and skull cap, but seeing him patiently walking his dog down the sidewalk makes him as irresistible as if he was naked. I know he’s a recovering sex-addict, but I’ve got to admit I’d throw that in a restroom stall and loiter till I’m exhausted (not that I ever do that…).
Justin Theroux, who is far, far more talented and beautiful than his credits would suggest, is a dog advocate and hardbody hunk who makes me sit up and bark. He’s already appeared in my wrestling fantasies, but with his dog stretched across his lap, I’m feeling desperate for some obedience training. My fantasy wrestling match between Justin and Michael C. Hall is one of my favorites for the overlap of wrestling, body worship, and the fight for dominance.
Some gorgeous men hardly need the extra push to put them over the lust-line. As if Hugh Jackman could get any more desirable, his family dog clutched under one arm makes me swoon. In my wrestling fiction, I’ve featured Hugh getting ripped apart by Daniel Craig, but finding no evidence that Daniel is a dog-guy, I’m thinking Hugh could have an edge in a rematch. Any man who’s had to learn how to be alpha dog in his own home has to have an edge in a fight over one who hasn’t learned the art of canine dominance training.

Some hunks are definitely pushed across the line of lustworthiness for me by knowing that a dog loves them. I go back and forth with
Zachary Quinto. Some days, his round, round ass and long lean body make me pant. Some days, not so much. These days, knowing that he walks his Irish Wolfhound in flip flops, and I’m entirely in the fan category. He’s simply got to make an appearance in my wrestling fiction soon. Not that he’ll necessarily win, but win or lose, he’s the stuff of my fantasies.

Jake Gyllenhaal, Justin Timberlake… the list goes on and on. Not every hunk of my dreams is a dog person. But those that are dog lovers turn me on even more than they otherwise would. To have a dog in your life suggests to me a maturity, a patience, and a deep understanding of what it means to have to prove your dominance by putting someone else on their back until they submit. And that is what it’s all about.

In Support of Elf-kind

I think Santa Claus gets way too much credit. The way I see it, he’s little better than the corporate CEO’s who get all the attention and obscene amounts of compensation while the worker bees get downsized. Come on! It’s clearly the elves who are the material means of production in the operation. But what child is clamoring to climb up on some elf’s lap and inflate his ego? And have you seen Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer lately? Santa comes across as quite the intolerant bigot with more than a hint of homophobia. And he’s a bastard to his sincere, industrious elves.
So I’m all for promoting elves today. Orlando Bloom as the elf Legolas in the Lord of the Rings jumps to the front of my mind. Yes, indeed, I’d much, much, much rather sit on his lap than that jelly-filled tyrant of the North Pole.
Personally, I’d support a proletariat revolution of the elves. I’m in complete sympathy with any effort they make to reclaim the political power imbued in the capital production of their labor. I’m not advocating for Santa to be assassinated or anything. But I wouldn’t blame them for sentencing him to a remote work camp where he had to get back in touch with his rightful place in a just economy by assembling Christmas toys until his fingers bleed.
Orlando Bloom as the social revolutionary elf wresting the socio-political and economic control of elf society away from their bourgeois exploiter is a hot concept, I think (maybe it’s just one too many eggnogs). Orlando in his pointy ears, fighting in the trenches and inspiring all elfkind with his shirtless leadership is a blockbuster waiting to happen.
Santa Claus ought to look over his shoulder, I think. While he literally grows fat off of the exploitation of his despised workers, the longing for liberation and justice can’t help but be bubbling just beneath the surface. Perhaps when Santa returns from his once-yearly grandstanding, handing out the produce of millions of elf-hours of uncompensated labor as if it were his own, this year he just might find there’s been a coup in the North Pole. Perhaps December 26 will be remembered by generations of elves to come as the Glorious Day of the Revolution. My heart is with them in their struggle for elf-dignity and self-determination.
And I’m first in line to sit on comrade Bloom’s lap.