Guys That Make you Go, “Hamuna, hamuna, hamuna...”

When you hear the word sexy, what comes to mind? With me, I’d like to say myself but I know I’m just inviting attempts to my life, so I’ll change my mind and say, “Anything oozing with talent.” Again, synonymous to me, but let’s not anger our public. All 3 of them.

In honor of that definition and the fact that Alice in Wonderland opens next month (i.e. the time I become barely literate with too much happiness), I would like to present you with my list of the sexiest men the heavens have been kind to grace us. Let me first take a moment to physically stopper my drool, and then let’s begin.

# 5. Johnny Depp. What?! Number 5! Are you crazy?! How dare you?!
Woah. Calm down. Repeat after me: “It’s not the end of the world.” You know how many guys I had on the list when I started? 78. And I had to narrow it to 5. It physically hurt cutting off hot guy after hot guy just so I don’t have to write a 10-page blog post. Bear with me.

Anyway, back to dear old Johnny. I really don’t need to define why the guy’s sexy, do I? He’s an amazing actor, he makes characters that would have been bland and creepy (read: Willy Wonka) exude so much sex appeal, your friends sometimes need to restrain you from launching yourself to the theater’s screen. He has a private life he keeps private (yes, we’re looking at you, Spencer Pratt), he wears a hat without looking like an idiot, and he was once a rock star.

*stops and wipes drool from face*

#4. Alan Rickman. He makes greasy-haired, sneaky Death Eater Severus Snape look so hot. Seriously. Have any of you who’ve read any Harry Potter book thought it possible that Severus can be portrayed in such a way that you would want to take your clothes off during a Potions class? Of course, he’d give you detention, but it’d be so worth it.

*Sigh* 

I’d follow that billowing black robe anywhere.

#3. Slash aka Saul Hudson. I feel guilty about placing my former future husband in third place, but I had to give up. Perla (the wife) doesn’t seem all that inclined to leave the sexiest artist that has ever touched a guitar, and it’s been 17 years since I promised eternal love to then Guns N’ Roses lead guitarist.

I might have given up on the future wife part, but Slash, dear I’ll never stop loving every inch of your disheveled, abundant, and suspiciously full of tiny woodland creatures hair. You got me through some pretty difficult times. Remember when I had this neighbor who was pissing me off with the stench of his overflowing garbage? All I had to do was play Appetite for Destruction in maximum volume and he was more than willing to clean up.

*sigh* 

Good times, good times. 

Take a listen at his Godfather guitar solo, and I dare ya to stop yourself from taking your clothes off.

#2. Simon Pegg. Boys, know this. If you’re not good-looking, be English. If you’re not English, play the guitar and be a rock star. If you can’t be a rock star, be a comedian. Funny guys will never go out of style.

Now, if you’re a hot English rock star who’s also funny, then you’re the man of my dreams. Call me.

Simon Pegg is one of the funniest writers, ever. There’s just something about British humor that grabs the attention. The fact that he’s also a faithful friend is a huge turn-on.

It’s frustrating ‘cause I can never articulate exactly why Mr. Pegg can top Johnny Depp on a ‘hot’ list, but I strongly suggest you watch Shaun of the Dead or Hot Fuzz, and note – while you’re laughing your behind off – that he co-wrote both flicks.

And, the # 1, of course, is…

Ray Davies. Most people would prefer John Lennon, and I have nothing against John, in fact I absolutely support the research on inventing time machines just so I can properly stalk him, but when it comes to English story-tellers who became famous before I was even thought of, the answer will always be The Kinks’ Ray Davies.

Watch any one of his videos – or  their videos, but let's not be technical – and you’ll find that there’s nothing as sexy as a guy who can tell a story in a short tune and play it with as much enjoyment as my dearly beloved Mr. Davies. Listen to Lola, Waterloo Sunset, Sunny Afternoon, The Village Green Preservation Society and join me in wonder why they don’t make artists like that anymore.

So, there. Five out of 78, and I’m still sane enough to finish it. If you disagree with any entry on this list, it is suggested that you make your own. Cheerio!

Team Coco!

With the media attention now focused on the abomination that is NBS's execs and their decision to treat Conan O'Brien like crap just because their little pet, Jay Leno, is screwing himself over because people now realize he isn't actually that funny, I wanna devote this post to my dearly beloved Conan.

Also, because my new post is still in the works. Just want it to be perfect. But of course you know that when it comes out it'll be like something I wrote for fifteen minutes with a dictionary consisting 17 words. Max.

Anyway, here's one of the most awesome moments in Coco's history, and the best commencement speech. Maybe ever. Enjoy. And LOL.






I’d like to thank the Class Marshals for inviting me here today. The last time I was invited to Harvard it cost me $110,000, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit suspicious. I’d like to announce up front that I have one goal this afternoon: to be half as funny as tomorrow’s Commencement Speaker, Moral Philosopher and Economist, Amartya Sen. Must get more laughs than seminal wage/price theoretician.

Students of the Harvard Class of 2000, fifteen years ago I sat where you sit now and I thought exactly what you are now thinking: What’s going to happen to me? Will I find my place in the world? Am I really graduating a virgin? I still have 24 hours and my roommate’s Mom is hot. I swear she was checking me out. Being here today is very special for me. I miss this place. I especially miss Harvard Square – it’s so unique. No where else in the world will you find a man with a turban wearing a Red Sox jacket and working in a lesbian bookstore. Hey, I’m just glad my dad’s working.

It’s particularly sweet for me to be here today because when I graduated, I wanted very badly to be a Class Day Speaker. Unfortunately, my speech was rejected. So, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to read a portion of that speech from fifteen years ago: “Fellow students, as we sit here today listening to that classic Ah-ha tune which will definitely stand the test of time, I would like to make several predictions about what the future will hold: “I believe that one day a simple Governor from a small Southern state will rise to the highest office in the land. He will lack political skill, but will lead on the sheer strength of his moral authority.” “I believe that Justice will prevail and, one day, the Berlin Wall will crumble, uniting East and West Berlin forever under Communist rule.” “I believe that one day, a high speed network of interconnected computers will spring up world-wide, so enriching people that they will lose their interest in idle chit chat and pornography.” “And finally, I believe that one day I will have a television show on a major network, seen by millions of people a night, which I will use to re-enact crimes and help catch at-large criminals.” And then there’s some stuff about the death of Wall Street which I don’t think we need to get into….

The point is that, although you see me as a celebrity, a member of the cultural elite, a kind of demigod, I was actually a student here once much like you. I came here in the fall of 1981 and lived in Holworthy. I was, without exaggeration, the ugliest picture in the Freshman Face book. When Harvard asked me for a picture the previous summer, I thought it was just for their records, so I literally jogged in the August heat to a passport photo office and sat for a morgue photo. To make matters worse, when the Face Book came out they put my picture next to Catherine Oxenberg, a stunning blonde actress who was accepted to the class of ‘85 but decided to defer admission so she could join the cast of “Dynasty.” My photo would have looked bad on any page, but next to Catherine Oxenberg, I looked like a mackerel that had been in a car accident. You see, in those days I was six feet four inches tall and I weighed 150 pounds. Recently, I had some structural engineers run those numbers into a computer model and, according to the computer, I collapsed in 1987, killing hundreds in Taiwan.

After freshman year I moved to Mather House. Mather House, incidentally, was designed by the same firm that built Hitler’s bunker. In fact, if Hitler had conducted the war from Mather House, he’d have shot himself a year earlier. 1985 seems like a long time ago now. When I had my Class Day, you students would have been seven years old. Seven years old. Do you know what that means? Back then I could have beaten any of you in a fight. And I mean bad. It would be no contest. If any one here has a time machine, seriously, let’s get it on, I will whip your seven year old butt. When I was here, they sold diapers at the Coop that said “Harvard Class of 2000.” At the time, it was kind of a joke, but now I realize you wore those diapers. How embarrassing for you. A lot has happened in fifteen years. When you think about it, we come from completely different worlds. When I graduated, we watched movies starring Tom Cruise and listened to music by Madonna. I come from a time when we huddled around our TV sets and watched “The Cosby Show” on NBC, never imagining that there would one day be a show called “Cosby” on CBS. In 1985 we drove cars with driver’s side airbags, but if you told us that one day there’d be passenger side airbags, we’d have burned you for witchcraft.But of course, I think there is some common ground between us. I remember well the great uncertainty of this day. Many of you are justifiably nervous about leaving the safe, comfortable world of Harvard Yard and hurling yourself headlong into the cold, harsh world of Harvard Grad School, a plum job at your father’s firm, or a year abroad with a gold Amex card and then a plum job in your father’s firm. But let me assure you that the knowledge you’ve gained here at Harvard is a precious gift that will never leave you. Take it from me, your education is yours to keep forever. Why, many of you have read the Merchant of Florence, and that will inspire you when you travel to the island of Spain. Your knowledge of that problem they had with those people in Russia, or that guy in South America-you know, that guy-will enrich you for the rest of your life.

There is also sadness today, a feeling of loss that you’re leaving Harvard forever. Well, let me assure you that you never really leave Harvard. The Harvard Fundraising Committee will be on your ass until the day you die. Right now, a member of the Alumni Association is at the Mt. Auburn Cemetery shaking down the corpse of Henry Adams. They heard he had a brass toe ring and they aims to get it. Imagine: These people just raised 2.5 billion dollars and they only got through the B’s in the alumni directory. Here’s how it works. Your phone rings, usually after a big meal when you’re tired and most vulnerable. A voice asks you for money. Knowing they just raised 2.5 billion dollars you ask, “What do you need it for?” Then there’s a long pause and the voice on the other end of the line says, “We don’t need it, we just want it.” It’s chilling.What else can you expect? Let me see, by your applause, who here wrote a thesis. (APPLAUSE) A lot of hard work, a lot of your blood went into that thesis… and no one is ever going to care. I wrote a thesis: Literary Progeria in the works of Flannery O’Connor and William Faulkner. Let’s just say that, during my discussions with Pauly Shore, it doesn’t come up much. For three years after graduation I kept my thesis in the glove compartment of my car so I could show it to a policeman in case I was pulled over. (ACT OUT) License, registration, cultural exploration of the Man Child in the Sound and the Fury…So what can you expect out there in the real world? Let me tell you. As you leave these gates and re-enter society, one thing is certain: Everyone out there is going to hate you. Never tell anyone in a roadside diner that you went to Harvard. In most situations the correct response to where did you to school is, “School? Why, I never had much in the way of book larnin’ and such.” Then, get in your BMW and get the hell out of there.

You see, you’re in for a lifetime of “And you went to Harvard?” Accidentally give the wrong amount of change in a transaction and it’s, “And you went to Harvard?” Ask the guy at the hardware store how these jumper cables work and hear, “And you went to Harvard?” Forget just once that your underwear goes inside your pants and it’s “and you went to Harvard.” Get your head stuck in your niece’s dollhouse because you wanted to see what it was like to be a giant and it’s “Uncle Conan, you went to Harvard!?”

But to really know what’s in store for you after Harvard, I have to tell you what happened to me after graduation. I’m going to tell you my story because, first of all, my perspective may give many of you hope, and, secondly, it’s an amazing rush to stand in front of six thousand people and talk about yourself.

After graduating in May, I moved to Los Angeles and got a three week contract at a small cable show. I got a $380 a month apartment and bought a 1977 Isuzu Opel, a car Isuzu only manufactured for a year because they found out that, technically, it’s not a car. Here’s a quick tip, graduates: no four cylinder vehicle should have a racing stripe. I worked at that show for over a year, feeling pretty good about myself, when one day they told me they were letting me go. I was fired and, I hadn’t saved a lot of money. I tried to get another job in television but I couldn’t find one.So, with nowhere else to turn, I went to a temp agency and filled out a questionnaire. I made damn sure they knew I had been to Harvard and that I expected the very best treatment. And so, the next day, I was sent to the Santa Monica branch of Wilson’s House of Suede and Leather. When you have a Harvard degree and you’re working at Wilson’s House of Suede and Leather, you are haunted by the ghostly images of your classmates who chose Graduate School. You see their faces everywhere: in coffee cups, in fish tanks, and they’re always laughing at you as you stack suede shirts no man, in good conscience, would ever wear. I tried a lot of things during this period: acting in corporate infomercials, serving drinks in a non-equity theatre, I even took a job entertaining at a seven year olds’ birthday party. In desperate need of work, I put together some sketches and scored a job at the fledgling Fox Network as a writer and performer for a new show called “The Wilton North Report.” I was finally on a network and really excited. The producer told me the show was going to revolutionize television. And, in a way, it did. The show was so hated and did so badly that when, four weeks later, news of its cancellation was announced to the Fox affiliates, they burst into applause.Eventually, though, I got a huge break. I had submitted, along with my writing partner, a batch of sketches to Saturday Night Live and, after a year and a half, they read it and gave us a two week tryout. The two weeks turned into two seasons and I felt successful. Successful enough to write a TV pilot for an original sitcom and, when the network decided to make it, I left Saturday Night Live. This TV show was going to be groundbreaking. It was going to resurrect the career of TV’s Batman, Adam West. It was going to be a comedy without a laugh track or a studio audience. It was going to change all the rules. And here’s what happened: When the pilot aired it was the second lowest-rated television show of all time. It’s tied with a test pattern they show in Nova Scotia.

So, I was 28 and, once again, I had no job. I had good writing credits in New York, but I was filled with disappointment and didn’t know what to do next. I started smelling suede on my fingertips. And that’s when The Simpsons saved me. I got a job there and started writing episodes about Springfield getting a Monorail and Homer going to College. I was finally putting my Harvard education to good use, writing dialogue for a man who’s so stupid that in one episode he forgot to make his own heart beat. Life was good.And then, an insane, inexplicable opportunity came my way . A chance to audition for host of the new Late Night Show. I took the opportunity seriously but, at the same time, I had the relaxed confidence of someone who knew he had no real shot. I couldn’t fear losing a great job I had never had. And, I think that attitude made the difference. I’ll never forget being in the Simpson’s recording basement that morning when the phone rang. It was for me. My car was blocking a fire lane. But a week later I got another call: I got the job.
So, this was undeniably the it: the truly life-altering break I had always dreamed of. And, I went to work. I gathered all my funny friends and poured all my years of comedy experience into building that show over the summer, gathering the talent and figuring out the sensibility. We debuted on September 13, 1993 and I was happy with our effort. I felt like I had seized the moment and put my very best foot forward. And this is what the most respected and widely read television critic, Tom Shales, wrote in the Washington Post: “O’Brien is a living collage of annoying nervous habits. He giggles and titters, jiggles about and fiddles with his cuffs. He had dark, beady little eyes like a rabbit. He’s one of the whitest white men ever. O’Brien is a switch on the guest who won’t leave: he’s the host who should never have come. Let the Late show with Conan O’Brien become the late, Late Show and may the host return to Conan O’Blivion whence he came.” There’s more but it gets kind of mean.
Needless to say, I took a lot of criticism, some of it deserved, some of it excessive. And it hurt like you wouldn’t believe. But I’m telling you all this for a reason. I’ve had a lot of success and I’ve had a lot of failure. I’ve looked good and I’ve looked bad. I’ve been praised and I’ve been criticized. But my mistakes have been necessary. Except for Wilson’s House of Suede and Leather. That was just stupid.

I’ve dwelled on my failures today because, as graduates of Harvard, your biggest liability is your need to succeed. Your need to always find yourself on the sweet side of the bell curve. Because success is a lot like a bright, white tuxedo. You feel terrific when you get it, but then you’re desperately afraid of getting it dirty, of spoiling it in any way.I left the cocoon of Harvard, I left the cocoon of Saturday Night Live, I left the cocoon of The Simpsons. And each time it was bruising and tumultuous. And yet, every failure was freeing, and today I’m as nostalgic for the bad as I am for the good.So, that’s what I wish for all of you: the bad as well as the good. Fall down, make a mess, break something occasionally. And remember that the story is never over. If it’s all right, I’d like to read a little something from just this year: “Somehow, Conan O’Brien has transformed himself into the brightest star in the Late Night firmament. His comedy is the gold standard and Conan himself is not only the quickest and most inventive wit of his generation, but quite possible the greatest host ever.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, Class of 2000, I wrote that this morning, as proof that, when all else fails, there’s always delusion.

I’ll go now, to make bigger mistakes and to embarrass this fine institution even more. But let me leave you with one last thought: If you can laugh at yourself loud and hard every time you fall, people will think you’re drunk.

Thank you.

Zombieland!

Just when I think I've had enough of Robinson's Cinema and would love nothing more than to see it burnt to the ground, or at the very least, filled with rotten vegetables, it turns around and surprises me. In a good way.

You see, MMFF (motto: "We cram award-hungry talentless people in one festival until you beg for mercy and think if Christmas means one more season of mediocre films, you'll skip the holiday altogether) has been going on a month longer than I care for, and I've had it up to here in talks of awards and floats and not being able to go to the cinema because no movie represents senseless fun. Well maybe except Ang Darling Kong Aswang, but I'm damned if I spend 100 pesos to see that.

So anyway, propelled by the feeling of luck turning in my favor, I checked with their cinema girl today and shouted for joy when I heard the best news this week. Zombieland is out tomorrow.

Zombies, man. If there's anything that makes me feel so much better about how the world is, it's zombies. Lots of them. With a mixture of funny banter and a couple of cameos. And Zombieland has it. How do I know?

This is when the love-hate relationship I have with Robinson's Cinema veered a little towards hate. I called them a couple thousand times if they have any plans of showing one of the perfect examples of my staple movie, and all I get is, "We're not sure until the film is already here." Nice.

So since I thought there was no chance of me watching the undead try to bite living people's limbs off in the big screen, I... *looks down and sniffles*... downloaded it.

I shouldn't have and I'm sorry.

For crap like Terminator Salvation, it's perfectly understandable to download since it's the height of wastefulness to spend hard-earned cash on crap by McG, but Zombieland is reminiscent of the best zombie movie ever, Shaun of the Dead, and I should have waited until the posters are removed from the poster boxes at the cinemas before I gave up hope.

But no matter. I'm still gonna watch it in all its gory glory in the big screen. I'll still scream when Columbus, Wichita, and Little Rock almost get bitten by zombies. I will still laugh my ass off during the cameo by Groundhog Day (wink, wink), and I will still cherish every single second Woody Harrelson is on screen doing what he does best: overacting and still pulling it off magnificently.

So if you're up for some senseless fun, get your butt over to SM or Rob (not sure about Gaisano), and if you're planning on bringing your girlfriend/boyfriend and talking all through the movie and you suddenly feel a wet trickle at the back of your head, remember, I have nothing to do with that softdrink being dumped on you. Promise.


P.S. In case you're wondering, out with Zombieland are Sherlock Holmes, Alvin and the Chipmunks, and Avatar back with a vengeance. There's no hint of The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus. And I'm not gonna rant about it. Not until next post. Later!

Think Happy Thoughts

One of the most awesome Pinoy writers of our time, Jessica Zafra, once said of John Carpenter atrocities: "They're a quick cure for a juvenile temper tantrum."

Personally, though, I'm more partial to anything with zombies, be they done by John Carpenter or not. Actually, I'm not sure if John Carpenter has done a zombie movie, but whatever. Point is when feeling like dung, different people have different ways to calm them. Some go for candles, others break stuff. My 6th grade teacher used to say whenever we frustrated her, that the only thing that calmed her down was taking a broom and bashing it against the wall. Poor broom, but better it than us.

Besides flesh-eating reanimated corpses, I also feel a whole lot better about the state of the world when I listen to music. Surprise, surprise. I think this one is universal and holds true for 90% of people. However, I believe that the following I'm going to share has the same effect to all people. Every time I listen to these songs, I've no choice but to be in a good mood. Enjoy!

500 Days of Summer (Not a Review)

I have amazing news that I couldn't wait to share. Well, I could wait but, why?


The latest copy of Manila Bulletin and the churva outside Robinson's that shows what movies are showing in their cinemas – what do you call it? – confirm the information I was just guessing about the past week and that is, 500 Days of Summer is out!


Now, don't go calling me low-tech who has no idea how to download movies to avoid going stark-raving crazy while waiting for a good movie to come out. First off, I am low-tech, no need to broadcast that. Second, I want to see one of my dearest girl-crushes in the big screen as I felt a computer monitor is not enough to accommodate those big blue eyes. Yes. Zooey Deschanel has eyes even Bambi is envious of. And the fact that she can act doesn't hurt either. Ah, Zooey...

Anyway, one other reason I'm gonna traipse on to the cinemas tomorrow with no sleep just to watch this movie, not once but twice, is the fact that The Smiths is mentioned as some sort of common denominator between the two characters.


According to reviews from downloaders and people who live in cities who get to have movies shown early, the soundtrack for this piece of amazing rom-com is brilliant. At first, I wasn't sure, because what's brilliant for them might be the soundtrack to the movie Glitter, and we all know how that affects me. Oh wait, you don't? I get uncontrollable urges to smash breakable objects and/or heads. Not safe. So I researched and found out they might actually be right. The soundtrack to the movie includes The Smiths, Hall and Oates, and Simon and Garfunkel. There was also a mention of Belle and Sebastian in the movie, and that just screams “cool!”.


I'm not gonna reserve the review for my next post, 'cause that might not be for a long time if the movie is everything it promises to be, which is a love story with just enough deadpan cynicism from Zooey to make it as far from gooey as a rom-com can possibly make it. I tend to be incoherent right after watching or reading something I like. See previous review for proof. However, if the movie sucks eggs, the resulting review would not be fit for viewing. I also tend to be mercilessly abusive colored with enough swear words that make sailors blush.

Let's hope for all our sakes, and for the love I hold for Zooey, that the movie delivers.

The Boat That Rocked: A Lesson in Rock N' Roll

I don't normally review movies I like because I end up gushing shamelessly without a thought to the reputation I've been trying to improve. However, after watching Richard Curtis' latest comedy that features guys with the sexiest accents and music that can make you sing out loud, I couldn't help but pen down my thoughts that will turn out to be incoherent as I go along. To say that the movie rocked is the biggest understatement of the year. It was funny, sexy, insightful, and filled with the most kick-ass music.

But first, I have to stop gushing and give you at least a basic idea what the movie is about.

The Boat That Rocked, aka Pirate Radio in the US, is about a pirate radio ship anchored off the coast of England in international waters playing rock and pop music for UK listeners. The exclusively rock and pop station, Radio Rock, is at odds with the government for playing rock music 24/7 and for DJs that use cuss words a lot. It is 1966 and, like most people in authority, the guv'nors have their knickers in a twist.

The movie begins with Carl, played by a cute young actor named Tom Sturridge, arriving on Radio Rock, after getting expelled from school for smoking, to bond with his godfather, played by Bill Nighy. His mother thought he might get sorted out having a father figure around, a decision that turns out to be a 'spectacular mistake'. He meets the other members of the pirate radio ship and gets into all sorts of trouble, meets a boatload of women, loses his virginity, and basically hangs out with the coolest buncha guys you could ever hope to meet.

If you have seen this movie already, you'd understand why I can barely put into words how cool it was. If you haven't and is a fan of Bill Nighy, or Phillip Seymour Hoffman, or Shaun of the Dead's Nick Frost, then you should definitely check it out. If you have seen the movie and didn't like it and think I should stop with this incessant raving, too bad.

So why do I love thee? Let me count the ways...


1. The music. The soundtrack for this movie is to-die-for. You'll hear all awesome 60s music that makes you question where modern 'rocker' posers get their inspiration from. They've The Who, The Turtles, Small Faces, Jimi Hendrix, The Beach Boys, my lover David Bowie, and their awesomeness The Kinks. Listening to the songs is enough to make you wish you belonged in that generation.

I mean, someday when we have kids, what music do we have to share them from our decade? Don't break my heart and say Chris Brown. Boy, how awesome would it be to have been alive when rock still was?

*sigh*

2. Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Oh, those eyebrows. They're enough to make you offer yourself. And maybe include your first born as well. I have loved Phillip Seymour since he played Lester Bangs in another movie that featured awesome music in another decade I should have been in. He's a brilliant actor and thoroughly believable as one who knows his rock music. And that voice is so powerful - when he says jump, I jump.

3. Bill Nighy. You know you've seen this guy but don't know where? He was Davy Jones in Pirates of the Caribbean, Viktor in the Underworld movies, the crazy rocker Billy Mack in Love Actually, and will play Rufus Scrimgeour in the last Harry Potter movies. He also was the voice of Whitey in Flushed Away and was in both movies that starred Simon Pegg and Nick Frost – Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz.

This guy's already 60, but still exudes so much sex appeal he can still leave you breathless. And you just got to love how he speaks, such personality!

4. Men with sexy accents. There's something about British accent that makes women go wild. It's not just me, too. Ask random women and they'll tell you they're more likely to take their clothes off when pursued by a guy that speaks the Queen's English. This movie has so many guys with sexy accents I could barely keep my head straight. Nick Frost (from Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz), Chris O'Dowd (from the IT Crowd), Jack Davenport (from Pirates of the Caribbean), Rhys Ifans (Adam Sandler's HOT older brother in Little Nicky), who will also join Bil Nighy in the last Harry movies as Xenophilius Lovegood.

Dang, girls, you have no idea how hot it got listening to these guys talk.

5. Tom Wisdom. I know I should just have included him in the previous paragraph, but I'd like to properly introduce the new love of my life.

Yes.

While I wait for Slash's divorce, Tom and I will be in a passionate, toe-curling affair that will have even the most experienced blush. As one of the 300 Spartans, I think he has what it takes to guarantee satisfaction. And mixed with his The Boat That Rocked character, Midnight Mark, the resident ladies man in Radio Rock, Tom and his leather pants are all I need in a deserted island. Mmmm, yummy...

So there. If that doesn't make you want to go and watch the movie, then you're either a Miley Cyrus fan or dead inside. There's nothing more I can do for you.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need another dose of Midnight Mark.