Thrusty Thursday: Parker Hurley

Ruthie Knox is one of my favorite people—an impressive feat considering I've never actually been in the same room with her. Yet. She's my friend, fellow romance novelist, critique partner, blog cohort, and future suitemate for the 2012 Romantic Times Booklovers' Convention. So it was highly gratifying last week when I was able to give her the gift of Parker Hurley. With a wonder tangible even in tweet form, she promptly declared him "her Gandy" and I happily relinquished all my digital lusting rights so that she might enjoy primacy. And naturally, I had to let her curate his moment as Thrusty Thursday honoree. Here are her top pics…but seriously, Google him, too. For the love of God, Google him. Or stalk him on his Tumblr.

And since it's my blog, after all, a bonus shot for me, fight-perv that I am. (Tip: if you squint you can pretend his shorts' logo is a silver fern and cast him in pervy New Zealander fantasies. Worked for me, anyhow.)

Thrusty Thursday: Joe Manganiello

I just ran across Joe Manganiello for the first time while co-curating the Raggedy-Ass Men Tumblr. Christ, do I ever feel ripped off. There's been some guy out there, perfectly pre-fabbed to cast as any number of my books' heroes, and I hadn't known?! He's most famous for his werewolf role in HBO's True Blood, so maybe this is what I get for lacking the paranormal gene. Still, better late than never. Now I'm going to have to buy the series, because in it he appears to wear (and remove) an inordinate number of plaid work shirts. But let us waste no further time lamenting when we could be thrusting, thrusting upon his majesty! (Oh and by the way, he used to box. Gasm.)

And here it is, your moment of Zen.

Spontaneous acts of unh

Just watched The Warlords. Two hours of unshaven Takeshi Kaneshiro looking pensive in a furry hat. Unh.

A Very Thrusty Tribute to the NHL

This week's Thrusty Thursday post was a joint effort—conceived and curated by my pal Ridley, and executed by yours truly. She's an avid hockey fan. And I am, as it turns out, an avid fan of looking at hockey players. So we present…

The Top Five Most Thrustable Men in the NHL

Number five, Joe Vitale. Self-explanatory. Foxy enough that you can forgive all the cumbersome, camouflaging padding.

Number four, Ryan Kesler. Image search him and you'll see he's got a sort of endearing, dorky John Krasinski thing going on, then bam! Some sexy pic pops up. Exhibit Unh, see below. And since I strive to keep this blog somewhat safe for work, I'll include this photo as a link only.

Number three, Patrick Sharp. Huh. So blue eyes can be broody. Who knew?

Number two, Andrew Ference. I mean, come on. And yeah, sure, doesn't hurt that he plays for Boston. I wanted to make him number one, but I just couldn't in good conscience oust a superior candidate (you'll see), but I did make him a mantage, as a consolation…

And…number one, Henrik Lundqvist. When Ridley very charitably brought Lundy to my attention, I said, "He could model as a billionaire tycoon on a Presents cover… Upon which I shall be posing as his overwrought virgin mistress." But seriously. He's a goalie. When exactly has this guy's face ever gotten smacked with a puck? Also, how on earth is he almost three years younger than me? We need to isolate the olden-days-style Real Man bone structure gene in Lundqvist and Gandy. Stat. For the future of manhood.

Thrusty Thursday: Paul Rudd

No intro—straight into the man-tage. BAM!

Also, did all my fellow beard-lusty working-class-man-coveting she-perverts know Paul Rudd is in a movie called Diggers, in which he digs clams and otherwise spends the whole movie wearing a knit cap and henley while smoking and talks in a Long Island accent all set in the scrappy mid-seventies?! If only it were on Instant Watcher, I'd be enjoying it now, instead of putting this silly post together. I mean, DAMN. It's like I wrote and directed my own ideal p0rno.

Thrusty Thursday: the 2011 All Blacks

In case you missed the memo, I love two things above just about all else: New Zealand, and sweaty, bruised men. So imagine how my heart and loins collided when the All Blacks made it to the 2011 Rugby World Cup final! During the last World Cup in 2007, I nearly wept in the bar when France beat New Zealand in the quarter final. Well, this past Sunday, the All Blacks got their revenge and beat France (in a nail-bitingly, heart-attack-inducingly close, low-scoring game) to take the cup home. [Could it be because France didn't have their gigantic, semi-feral caveman, Sébastien Chabal this year?] Though they didn't have to take it far, since Auckland was hosting. Bonus.

Nice knee bruises, Kieran Read. May I ice those for you?

Now if you're a lady-pervert like me and you've never watched rugby, you are cheating yourself. No sports enthusiasm or rule-appreciation required. Short-shorts, basically no padding, brutish acts of manfulness just like, constantly. Unh. Anyhow, here's some more Kiwi thrust-fodder:

Oh and look, a shot of foxy flanker Kieran Read signing a young fan's jersey. How'd that get in there?

Thrusty Thursday: Carl Froch

Can a man still be thrustable even if he's been punched in the face beyond all conventional handsomeness? Oh, furk yes! Better be possible, since my current WIP's hero falls into that category. But for proof, behold Exhibit Unh—the brutal, manful, wrapped-hands sextasticalz that is English boxer, Carl Froch.

My Parts Asplode!!

David Gandy + a heavy bag + drawstring pants + a bunch of broody English dudes in hoodies = me, having an orgasm in my eyeballs.

A Very Special, Very Half-Assed Thrusty Thursday

I'm too busy writing to work hard this week. Here—stare at Jude Law's slightly sinister breed of hotness. Never get a face-lift, you beautiful weary-eyed bastard. Can you do a filthy Scottish accent and dye your hair black and chain smoke? If so, you're welcome to the role of Ian Kilpatrick when the film rights for Skin Game are inevitably optioned [cough cough, author delusion].

Thrusty Thursday: Laurence Fishurne

So I've been watching a slew of seminal cycling movies in the past week, so-called inspiration and research for a work-in-progress neither me nor my evil twin will yet claim authorship of. But this last weekend we watched a real hum-dinger of the genre—Quicksilver.

It stars Kevin Bacon as a stock trader turned bike messenger, and it is like the eighties filtered through a lens made of pure eighties. I recommend it. Highly. The soundtrack is like…uhn. It also reminded me of a fact one must not let slip from one's daily consciousness—Larry Fishburne is a fucking fox! He may just get my nomination as one of Hollywood's Top Five Foxes of All-Time. Behold his dishiness as it transcends role and age:

Goddamn you and your stern-but-dreamy eyes, Fishburne!

And of course, here's the trailer for Quicksilver (1986). It's slightly more OTT than the actual movie…but only slightly:

Thrusty Thursday: Hijacked in the name of AWESOME!!!

Letting my evil twin Cara commandeer Thrusty Thursday, to celebrate her ten thousandth tweet by presenting you with the awesomest thing there is and ever could be…

SHIRTLESS JASON STATHAM RESCUING 

A BABY OWL FROM A FIRE!!!

No doubt my design professors will be relieved to know I'm not letting my Photoshop training go to seed.

Unnhhh…

Oh yes, to quote Ruthie Knox, unh… Unnnhhh, big time. Thanks to Zoë Archer for tweeting this decadence from Swoonworthy, as it's probably—no, it's definitely—the greatest poster for anything, ever. I saw the trailer for this movie a couple months ago and my loins promptly exploded, because, as anyone who knows me is aware, fighters do things to me. Things that make me unh. You're welcome to all the cowboys, the SEALs, and especially the billionaire tycoons, so long as you forward all the bruised and bloody, battered men straight to me.

Right, one last ogle then it's back to work on this new Blaze proposal…which, handily enough, is about a fighter. Unh.