So I guess there’s a movie out now about male strippers, called “Magic Mike” and it’s got some guy named Channing Tatum (I guess he’s a thing now?) whom I would not know if he bit me, but judging by the pictures that are flooding my FB newsfeed, I have at least twelve friends who would be extremely pleased if he did, in fact, bite them.

He is, even to my presbyopic eyes, a good-looking guy. If you’ve been living under a rock, or you are my mother, here’s a picture of Channing Tatum:

He’s good-looking, I guess. Again, if you’re still under that rock, or still my mom, here’s a picture of his abs:

Please don’t misunderstand: he’s not a bad looking guy. (He’s also young enough to be my son, I think, but we’ll toss that out for the purposes of discussion.)

But I don’t get the fascination with this movie, or with the abs. I look at that second picture and think: “Young man, pull your pants up.” (Which could be the age difference thing, but I’d be thinking that even if that were George Clooney.)

My second thought is, “You’d be better looking if you were wearing this:

Now that….THAT’S a door-locking, desk-clearing, ohmygodwhatdidyoudotomycalculator good look. I would pay good money, full price, in a theater, to see a movie called “Magic Analysts.”

© E. Stocking Evans 2012