Men nominated can be any age (or at least any age over 18), and profession and any body type.  The full list of suggested prompts is after the jump:

BODY PARTS

1. Hottest Eyes
2. Hottest Legs
3. Hottest Ass
4. Hottest Arms
5. Hottest Dick
6. Hottest Hair
7. Hottest Facial Hair
8. Hottest Chest
9. New Category: Hottest Body Overall

DATES

10. Hottest Man of the 19th Century
11. Hottest Man 1900-1949
12. Hottest Man of the 50’s
13. Hottest Man of the 60’s
14. Hottest Man of the 70’s
15. Hottest Man of the 80’s
16. Hottest Man of the 90’s
17. Hottest Man of the 21st century

NATIONS

18. Hottest Canadian
19. Hottest Australian/New Zealander
20. Hottest German
21. Hottest Mexican
22. Hottest Spaniard
23. Hottest Man from Asia
24. Hottest Man from Africa
25. Hottest Man from South America
26. New Category: Hottest British Man
27. New Category: Hottest Frenchman
28. New Category: Hottest Italian

JOBS

29. Hottest Athlete
30. Hottest Porn Star
31. Hottest Politician
32. Hottest Artist
33. Hottest Writer
34. Hottest Musician
35. Hottest Actor
36. Hottest Celebrity
37. New Category: Hottest Non-Celebrity

GENERAL

38. Hottest Younger Man (18+ please)
39. Hottest Older Man
40. Hottest Stylish Man
41. Hottest Smart Man
42. Hottest Man Who Just Exudes Sex
43. Hottest Man You Loathe As A Person
44. Most Unexpectedly Hot Man
45. Hottest Man Of All (vote counts twice)

One of the funny advantages of having a blog with the word Mixtapes in the title is that I get a lot of e-mail blasts from hip-hop promoters.  Yesterday, I had the… fortune to get a download link to a new Chris Brown song called “Wet The Bed.”  It is a slow jam, and features lyrics like “Put your legs behind your head / I’m gonna make you wet the bed.”  Which, I don’t know, is maybe one of those funny straight-people things I don’t understand, but which to me sounds icky and creepy and icky and creepy and icky.  Also in the background there is also the sound of Ludacris saying “drip, drip, drip” in what I imagine is supposed to be a seductive voice.

I mean for God’s sake.
This song is weird to me, not least because if you Google the words “Chris Brown wet the bed” the first results are Tyra Banks talking about how Brown used to wet the bed as a child in response to seeing domestic violence in the home.  Which, not to say that different phrases can’t have different contexts at different points in a person’s life, and I don’t think he’s actually talking about engaging in watersports or anything, but it seems like maybe this is an… odd way to work through childhood trauma.

But also the song is just kind of dumb.  Ludacris, who should know better, spends his verse rhyming away about how big his cumshots are.  “Women call me the Super Soaker,” he says.  “And I’m gonna soak your bed to death.”  I appreciate the sentiment, I think, but seriously, that makes no sense.

And as for Chris Brown’s cumshots…  They’ve been on a lot of minds lately, I suspect, after photos of the abusive hitmaker’s dong surfaced on the internet recently.  [It was here, but I guess it's been pulled, though embeds of the link still seem to be working.]  I admit that I too checked the photos out, and I have to say that he is very nice-looking, a show-er and probably not a grower, etc., and that probably if I were a teenaged girl I’d be all about having him deep in me, or whatever.

But it’s kind of weird, isn’t it, to be ogling the peen of a man who you will know is the abusive asshole who very publicly assaulted his girlfriend, beloved pop star Rihanna?  Because Chris Brown is an unquestionably terrible person who by all rights should not have a career in music right now.  His public apology for the Rihanna incident was so lame and self-centered that to call it half-assed would be exaggerating its eloquence.  And, while he’s had a good single or two here and there, there are plenty of other talented male r&b singers out there who don’t abuse their girlfriends and then use it as a platform to talk about themselves all day.  (Which leads me leads me to wonder how accidental this photo leak from “an ex” is, particularly because the Sisqo hairdo is basically brand new.)

But none of this has stopped Brown from selling hits… His stupidly-titled “Yeah 3x” hit the top 10 on pop and R&B radio, a feat considering that its generic beats sound like they were imported straight from a sold-on-TV compilation called Pure Dance 2002.

“Wet The Bed” comes from Brown’s fourth album, F.A.M.E., out later this month.

I don’t normally care much for action movies, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Bruce Willis, going all the way back to the first Die Hard.  He’s got charisma, he’s got nice arms, he can actually act, and I can take him seriously.

He’s also really hot.  Actually, he looks a lot better now than he did a quarter-century ago, when he first appeared on Moonlighting, the mystery-comedy series he starred in opposite Cybill Shepard.  Maybe it’s just because I’ve got an autoboner for baldness-disguising head shaving; I don’t know.  Peter Keough, writing for the Boston Phoenix, made it a point in his review of new action comedy Red to accuse the actor of looking more like Mr. Clean with each passing film.  Whatever, dude.
I actually saw Red the other day.  It’s good–better than I expected, actually.  The concept is surprisingly subversive: it’s a Bruce Willis action comedy where the United States is the enemy.  Helen Mirren is fabulous, of course, and Morgan Freeman is only mildly annoying.  John Malkovich is the comic relief character who’s fully of wisecracky non sequiturs, sort of, until you learn that his wackiness stems from the fact that the CIA secretly fed him LSD every day for eleven years.

Willis is really good as the retired killer, but also he looks really good, swapping tight t-shirts and debonair suits for military uniforms and firefighter outfits.  It’s actually a little distracting, particularly in the earlier scenes before Mirren shows up to out-act everyone.

Back when I was twelve and easily impressionable, Willis appeared fully nude in a tawdry thriller called Color Of Night.  The film itself was almost immediately forgotten, bar on the celebrity male nude websites that would start appearing a few years later.

But the nude scene that really drove me nuts was the one in Pulp Fiction; that is, possibly, his hottest role.  As boxer Butch Coolidge, Willis has sex with Maria de Medeiros, gets wrapped up in a weird bondage scenario, and, most thrillingly, takes a shower.  We see him stepping out of the shower, immediately wrapping a towel around himself, but the choreography of the scene is such that I was convinced there just had to be a flash of dick.  As a horny teen in the VHS era, I’d rewind and fast-forward those few seconds over and over again, sure I’d be able to see something.  (And I guess I wasn’t the only one.)

He’s not always hot; The Fifth Element, while a great movie in a lot of ways, is a total boner-killer.  And I’m not so enamored that I’d ever want to sit through The Whole Nine Yards or anything.  But as far as action heroes go, Bruce will always be my Last Boy Scout.

Hummina hummina hummina…

This video only has 123 views in Youtube as of right now, which is clearly crazy because Stanley Tucci is a sex god and also makes my loins do a dancing-happy-loins dance in a way that no one else in Hollywood does.  Although I’m surprised at the lack of “A Life Less Ordinary” in this video, because his shirtless villain look in that movie is really phenomenal.  (Also Ewan McGregor!  And Cameron Diaz! And Holly Hunter!)

Also I am kind of drunk right now.

The cruisy period of my life was pretty brief, mainly extending from when I broke up with my first boyfriend (at 19) and when I started going to bars all the time instead (around 22.)  There’s one park in Providence that’s known for being very cruisy (and which for some reason is located in the wealthiest part of town.)  But around the time I got a little older the police started showing up more.

George Michael, on the other hand, still cruises.

‘The handful of times a year it’s bloody warm enough, I’ll do it. I’ll do it on a nice summer even–ing. Quite often there are campfires up there. It’s a much nicer place to get some quick and honest sex than standing in a bar, E’d off your tits shouting at somebody and hoping they want the same thing as you do in bed. DyaknowhatImean?’.

It seems like an odd risk for someone who is so very wealthy, who’s been arrested for it before, and, from what I’ve been told, who is usually totally baked all day.  But that said, George, don’t you think it’s time you had sex with me?  (C-c-c-c-c’mon.)

I think I may go back to writing on paper, because my brain is seriously not disciplined enough to sit in front of the computer all day.  I write two sentences, then I check my Google Reader.  Then I write another sentence, then I become incomprehensibly worried that my Tumblarity might have dropped.  Then I delete that last sentence and spend the next hour looking at all the links posted by the 400 people I’m following on Twitter.  It’s kind of really fucking annoying.

Here is just a smattering of the things that are distracting me today:

A hairy gay creative writing professor/vegetarian porn star who likes The Dismemberment Plan, The Cardigans AND Patricia Highsmith?  Hello, Dreamy McDreamsicles!  Or Conner Habib, which I guess is what he technically answers to.  (Oh, and did I mention that he’s effing gorgeous?)

Speaking of people with whom I’d like to make whoopie, I’m a little smitten today with Ersan Ilyasova of the Milwaukee Bucks.  I don’t know anything about basketball, but at some point just before bed last night I found a photo of him here.

Also in sporting news, sometimes when I see iPhone photos of famous people I can’t distinguish them from iPhone photos of unfamous people.  So forgive me for not recognizing baseball player Grady Sizemore the first 5 times I first saw this visual pun about teabagging.  Actually, who am I kidding?  I have no idea who the hell he is.

Kind of like how when I stumble across celebrity porn fakes there’s about a 90% chance that I won’t be able to actually identify the person whose head is photoshopped on.  (The Daniel Craig one is pretty hilarious, though.)

I want more or less everything in the Art of Manliness Holiday Gift Guide.  But mainly Filson’s Mackinaw Cruiser, the tweed radio and the leather bag.  You know, if you were wondering.

The Chronicle of Higher Education looks at boys.

There’s a Blur documentary coming out early next year, in the UK at least.  This is the kind of thing I would fly to the UK to see, if I were a wealthy jetsetter and not an underemployed “creative.”

Elizabeth Fraser of the Cocteau Twins does her first interview in forever.

The Pet Shop Boys have a Christmas EP coming out soon, and they’re releasing parts of the new Christmas single a little bit each day.

Natalia Antonova writes about Lolita over at The Second Pass.  (Sadly, her thoughts on the novel aren’t accompanied by a Sasha Grey spread the way that Roger Ebert’s was.)

And finally, Videogum gets to the heart of something that’s been on my mind for weeks now:  What the hell is the deal with those Sherlock Holmes Taquito ads at 7-11?

[Connor Habib photo via his Facebook]

I can’t sleep and I’m insanely bored, so I thought now would be as good as time as any to post my NFL predictions for this season.  Though I did better than usual at caring about football last year, I’m still not really qualified to say anything about the strengths or weaknesses of any one team because I don’t pay attention to things like trades and injuries and who retired and all those other things that real fans care about.  So my predictions above are based entirely on the relative cuteness of the starting quarterback.  Religious zealot or not, in my crazy fantasy world the Cardinals’ Kurt Warner is just dying to do unspeakable things to me, and the Ravens’ Joe Flacco isn’t far behind.  (A little surprisingly, my choices don’t at all overlap with the most symmetrical faces in the NFL.  I ranked Matt Ryan 23rd out of the 32 starters, and Roethlisberger, Collins and especially fugmaster Philip Rivers all finished last in their divisions.)

After the jump, my predictions for each division, with visual evidence:

AFC EAST
Chad Pennington, Miami
Mark Sanchez, New York
Trent Edwards, Buffalo
Tom Brady, New England

AFC NORTH
Joe Flacco, Baltimore
Carson Palmer, Cincinatti
Brady Quinn, Cleveland
Ben Roethlisberger, Pittsburgh

AFC SOUTH

Matt Schaub, Houston
Peyton Manning, Indianapolis
David Garrard, Jacksonville
Kerry Collins, Tennessee

AFC WEST
JaMarcus Russell, Oakland
Matt Cassel, Kansas City
Kyle Orton, Denver
Philip Rivers, San Diego

NFC EAST
Jason Campbell, Washington
Donovan McNabb, Philadelphia
Eli Manning, New York
Tony Romo, Dallas

NFC NORTH
Aaron Rodgers, Green Bay
Brett Favre, Minnesota
Jay Cutler, Chicago
Daunte Culpepper, Detroit

NFC SOUTH
Drew Brees, New Orleans
Jake Delhomme, Carolina
Byron Leftwich, Tampa Bay
Matt Ryan, Atlanta

NFC WEST
Kurt Warner, Arizona
Matt Hasselbeck, Seattle
Shaun Hill, San Francisco
Marc Bulger, St Louis

Several years ago, too broke to buy Christmas gifts, I wrote my best friend a novel.  It’s true!  But not just any novel, mind you.  A pornographic Hardy Boys novel!  When we stopped living together, he made a point of leaving behind any gifts I had given him in the past, and the other day I found the only physical copy of the book.  It’s in manuscript form, and I had it done at Kinko’s, which means (of course) that it’s a little fucked up and one chapter starts twice and there’s some blank pages in the middle for no reason.  But hey, whatever!

Anyway, the book is no good to me and actually pretty embarrassing and frankly I wouldn’t mind getting it out of my life.  But if you’ve ever wanted to read about violent bathroom stall sex, brother-on-brother whoopie, or a mystery woman based loosely around Goldie Hawn’s character in Housesitter, send me something dirty.  A story, some photos, something you drew on a napkin, whatever.  It can be your creation or someone else’s, although if it’s someone else’s I’m going to want documentation of where you got it from (who wrote it, photographed it, whatever.)  Whoever sends me the most interesting thing by next Monday at 5pm wins.  E-mail your entries to yurigellerbentme@gmail.com

Though I would be lying if I told you I had more than the most superficial interest in hockey, that’s not to say that I’m completely ignorant of its charms.  It’s pretty much the only sport I like to watch in person, for one, and NHL games make a lot more sense to me now that half the games don’t end up with a tie.  I still don’t understand why the season drags into June when it should be over by, I don’t know, early April, but really who am I to say.

Anyway, the Stanley Cup might be decided tomorrow. Detroit’s up 3-2 over Pittsburgh in the finals, and if the Red Wings win tomorrow they’ll keep the trophy for the second consecutive year.

One of Detroit’s superstar players–and the reason I’m writing this post–is Henrik Zetterberg, the Swedish left wing.  Last year he won the Conn Smythe trophy, which goes to the most valuable player in the post-season, and this year he’s scored 24 points during the playoffs.  More importantly, he’s a total hunk.  After the jump, Exhibits A-I, showing why this man does things to me.  He’s a little bit Jared Leto-y, as many have noted, but clean-shaven he also looks a lot like Bobby Briggs.  Obviously I prefer him with his beard, though.

(nb: That’s his girlfriend, Emma Andersson, in the next picture.  Holy botox!)

Though he was all the rage in the gay blog world about a year ago, I never noticed HGTV electrician Marc “Sparky” Bartolomeo until this morning, when I stumbled across his early modeling photos while I was looking for something else entirely.  I’m normally not attracted to anyone on TV, even when I feel like I should be (ie. the guy that drives the Cash Cab.)  But still photos are more interesting, anyway.

Bartolomeo is cute, in an ordinary Italian guy-next-door sort of way, but these photographs are almost all really awesome, for himbo model pictures (which normally I can’t stand, really.)

Pics, including one with a butt and one with a penis and one with some underball, after the jump.

[via Dwight Supremacy]