Last year I was out-muscled by powerhouse “X-Men” star Hugh Jackman. This year I’ve been outclassed by the enigmatic charm of Johnny Depp. Fact is: I tried. Oh God did try.
I thought it was a tight race coming into the final stretch, before this season’s “Sexiest Man Alive” would emerge. So before the Gallup Polls of vanity closed, in a frantic effort to really get people talking, I cut my hair, trimmed my beard and bought a new dress shirt from the Gap. Alas, it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.
The field gets more and more competitive every year. I mean, these young kids, like Zac Efron and the cast of “Twilight,” who are all into super-juices and yoga, are totally changing the way we do “sexy.”
I roll around in a beat up Honda Civic, smoke cheap pre-rolled cigarettes and search for romance on the Internet when everyone has gone to bed. Johnny Depp, on the other hand, owns a private island in the Bahamas, rolls his own cigarettes with rare Peruvian tobacco and has sex on white sand beaches. WTF! How am I supposed to act sexy with that going on? He rolls his own cigarettes for @#$% sakes. I can’t compete with that.
I have, however, taken a few strategic notes on how to pump my chances for next year. Needless to say, more tattoos, useless trinkets and visits to the Playboy mansion are at the top of my list.
Thank you Johnny Depp for helping me realize what it is I truly want in life: to love, be loved and be recognized by “People” magazine as the “Sexiest Man Alive.”
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