It’s A Dirty Job. . .

. . . but I am willing to do it for you people. Yes, hours of slaving over a hot keyboard, to serve up the finest in wet gentlemen.

As some of you know, I have dreadful insomnia, and tonight just happens to be one of those nights when I am not going to get any sleep at all. So, having written two scenes for my WIP, I got to play around on the net, looking for the perfect post for Wetsday. Dear Lord, I suffered through videos of Gerard Butler and Richard Armitage, stills of Colin Firth and Naveen Andrews, candids of the Wilson Brothers, and more shots of Josh Holloway and Liev Schrieber than I can count. As I said, someone has to do it, and I am willing to make the sacrifice.

But I was looking for something a wee bit different this week, something to give you a break from the predictable BBC hero or Lost castaway. Someone more approachable, someone almost real . . . .

And then I realized I had never shared my dirty little secret with the blogosphere. There is one guy I get to watch whenever he is on, without the smart-mouth comments from the teenage daughters or the eye-rolling from DH. Cause they love his show too, for all the wrong reasons.

Yes, it is funny and sometimes unbelievable, so the DD’s like it. The DH feels all macho and warm inside cause watching it makes him a member of the He-Man-Woman-Haters Club. But you and I know, the real reason for watching Dirty Jobs is the chance to see stripped down, sweaty, yummy Mike Rowe.

Doesn’t it make you just want to wash him? And btw, he does clean up very nicely. . .

Happy WetsDay!!!!!

Well, welcome to WetsDay, your winsome window to the wide wonderful world of wet — NOT women, though I guess it seemed like that was where I was going, huh? Oh, you know the Sizzlers better than that!!!!

One thing about southern girls, we love our men. We love the real ones, who happen to be snoring in the next room, oblivious to the heaving bosoms in our latest WIP, and we love the fantasy ones, whether in our own books or the stories of our favorite authors.

But there is another dimension, a dimension of men who are the stuff of fantasy, while we know that they are, in fact, alive and very much in the flesh.  These are the celebrities. Strange creatures from another world, sent here to remind us that, yes, pectorals really can look like that,  and not just on the cover of a historical from Avon.

I digress.  The point is, there are some celebrities that get us extremely hot, and when you are hot, what is the solution???? You put out the fire!!!! That takes water. Lots of water. You pour it on the heat, roll around in it. Wet, slippery bodies moving against each other, finding each other, need meeting  need . . .

And damn it, then you are hot again!  What’s a girl to do?

Enough. The pressure was intense for the inaugural WetsDay. Early leader Colin Firth was expected to make a good showing based on his white shirt performance in Pride and Prejudice, though he had surprising a late entry when he fought Hugh Grant in the rain for dear Bridget Jones. The Rock is always something when he is sweaty. Sean Bean lying in a river. Daniel Radcliffe (jailbait!) looking forlorn in the rain. Lance Armstrong naked cycling in a downpour. Naveen Andrews dripping sweat on the island in Lost.

Girls, I tell you, I suffered through this, making sure I brought you only the finest WetsDay offering.  I had to look at these pictures over and over again. Why, sfcatty and I had to use a magnifying glass to settle an argument over Daniel Craig (and don’t listen to her,  it is a shadow!!!!)

But in the interest of womanhood everywhere, I present to you . . .

Mr. Christian Bale:

 

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