13.

If I saw this man across the room in a coffee shop I would have to go to the bathroom to cry for a few minutes because I know if I lock eyes with him he is going to start telling me about his unfinished novel. This man goes to NYU and is way too proud of that. This man has very strong opinions about IPAs. This man will corner me in a bar to ask me if I’ve ever tried kombucha. This man pretends he knows what he’s doing when he goes to Whole Foods. There is no amount of money that could convince me to let this iteration of Sufjan Stevens fist me.

12.

Listen, I’m not saying this one isn’t excellent, I’m just saying that this one makes me want to fist him. I just opened the dictionary to “power bottom” and the entire page was this picture.

11.

Okay so this one’s also really good but I can’t help but get hung up on the potential technical issues. I would end up with a crepe streamer in my ass. Like, there’s absolutely no plausible deniability of that fact. Can I deal with that? Is it a sacrifice I’m willing to make? Maybe. But it doesn’t make the top of the list.

10.

On one hand, yes, very much so, please and thank you. On the other hand he’s going to start singing Joy To The World under his breath midway through, and while his version of Joy To The World did have definite homoerotic undertones, I don’t know if I’d be able to live with myself after the fact. Also he looks like my sister’s ex-girlfriend here.

9.

At some point in 2012, Sufjan Stevens hit the peak of his heterosexuality bell curve and he has never returned to this level of absolute butch douchery since. I kind of hate it but I also kind of want to gently push down his cheap plastic sunglasses, look deep into his eyes, have an hour-long candid conversation with him about the toxicity of our culture’s absurd standards of masculinity, and then politely ask him to fist me.

8.

He’s going to try to recruit me into the Church of Scientology at some point during this fisting session but honestly his hands look so huge here I barely even care.

7.

One: Yes, he has himself embroidered on his tie. Two: If you wiped my memory and told me that this was a 1976 advertisement for a men’s clothing company that secretly ran underground cruising operations at Yale, I would believe you with no hesitation. Three: Am I hallucinating or is that bag crocheted? What the fuck is this dude even doing half the time? Four: Fisting allure is pretty good here. I like how he has one hand behind his back. What a tease.

6.

Three words: femme fatale extraordinaire. Regardless of her bad hairstyle here, she will drain your bank account and fist you while smoking a cigarette and you will love every minute of it. However, we cannot ignore that our girl is wearing jeans and a T-shirt underneath the little black dress, which kinda shatters the illusion. Only a little bit, though.

5.

You know I can’t fucking resist knee-length shorts with long socks.

4.

This is your uncle’s college friend from a little ways up north who sometimes accompanies you guys on man-bonding fishing trips. He’s something like twice your age and he has a soul patch and he’s one of those weird vegans who you’d never expect to be a vegan but as soon as he tells you it makes total sense for some reason, but oh my god you would take those forearms to puppy kindergarten. A few years later it suddenly dawns on you that the red handkerchief in his pocket was meant to communicate something, and you spend a solid hour cursing yourself for not asking him to fist you in a canoe.

3.

What fucking monster let him out of the house with his arm-holes that loose? Who tried to orchestrate this mass extinction of gay bottoms with a tenuous and complicated relationship to Christianity? Those obliques make me want to repent to Vin Diesel and I think I also just developed an armpit fetish. The only reason this one isn’t higher up is because this image inexplicably makes me doubt he has nipples.

2.

Don’t say a fucking word.

1.

I don’t go a day without thinking about this photo. Why is he so impractically vascular for a soft-spoken folk singer? Why are his forearms succulent turkey legs? Why do I want to swallow his bicep whole like a large, firm, hard-boiled egg? Does he even know what football is? How did I ever think I was straight? Why is he gesturing towards his impeccably toned ribcage? Why is a forty-year-old man wearing pants that tight? Why is Sufjan Stevens bent on making meek gay men from the northeastern United States turn to the concept of fisting like moths to a flame? This is going to be the last thing I see before I die.