They also decided to take their tops off, because they know very well what us losers who spend our free time on the internet are like.
I don’t know exactly when this video was shot, but I’m going to guess it’s at least few years old. We don’t have much evidence on this, I can’t even make out the posters on the wall, but that computer monitor on the right there kinda screams 1999.
Other favourite details in the room include:
- The straight-boy running trainers haphazardly left in front of the desk. HAPHAZARDLY!
- The mess on the bed. What the hell is on that bed? And why isn’t any of these boys tidying up? It’s a whole different world, isn’t it?
- The white tilted lampshade next to the bed. The lampshade was straight until boy no.2 came home drunk with a girl one Friday night, only to proceed into such experimental, acrobatic sexual activities that any furniture and decorative ornaments around just had to surrender.
Now then. The boys.
Boy no.1 – the boy in the middle.
Boy no.1 is my least favourite. Of course he’s the main character and the others look up to him and adore him and he bosses them around and he gets all the chicks and he may not be the best academically, but somehow he always gets away with it and does well for himself and everyone likes him apart from the people he bullies but even they have to pretend that they do like him because he’s so popular…so naturally I like the others more.
Plus he looks like somebody that Sean Cody put together as a contrived model of “straight jock”. Tan AND blonde highlights AND white coral necklace AND suspiciously Abercrombie looking shorts. Well I guess maybe these people do exist.
Regardless, he’s still very good and I love him with most of my heart.
Boy no.3 – the boy in the background.
Boy no.3 is my second favourite. It’s a shame that no one’s paying any attention to him because everyone’s watching Boy no.1 who has a natural star and Boy no.2 (more of which later) who is a gorgeous, pleasant straight boy.
If you get over the other two boys for a second and focus on the unshapely one in the background, you’ll see that he’s giving the performance of a lifetime. The Rodin’s Thinker pose at 0:05, the explosion at 0:13 (completely unrelated to the music), how he grabs his knob at 0:24 – all classic moments.
But still, none of this is enough to distract us from Boy no.2 – the boy on the left.
Boy no.2 is the greatest boy that has ever lived. In the long tradition of boys that are good looking and natural and seem genuinely nice (e.g. Harvey from Sabrina The Teenage Witch and…erm that’s it) I desperately want to be Boy no.2.
Boy no. 2 has effortless hair, a flawless face, an effortless athletic body and the pièce de résistance, little white socks. I love love love those. I love love love him.
Favourite moments in the life of Boy no.2 for me, include:
0:01 a close up of his chest
0:03 he turns around, looks at me straight in the face and sings: turn around
0:04 to 0:19 he looks at Boy no.1 for 15 continuous seconds, trying to get some approval, his attention, a look back, anything. This confirms to anyone who was stupid enough to doubt it still, who the leader of this group is. This dynamic of this group is not a democratic one, it never was and it never will be. We all know that, but we’re OK with it. Of course Boy no.1 completely ignores him for these long 15 seconds, as he’s preoccupied with his good self
0:25 he raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes dramatically as he looks at me again
0:28 still with Boy no.1’a best interests at heart, he gently pulls the chair back to give him more space. This is the most homosexual action I have ever witnessed in my 28 years. At the same time, it’s not homosexual at all, it’s just Boy no.2 being nice, nice like I never will be and I never will understand, because unfortunately, I’m more like Boy no.1 myself
0:31 to 0:40 this is where his amazing silly straight boy choreography begins (bent knees, finger clicking, up-and-down arm movement, magnificent back-and-forth stepping with the left foot), a choreography that’s cut off suddenly and heart-breakingly on the 40th second mark, leaving me with a hole in my heart, wait, I never had one anyway.
In other news, thanks to whoever was responsible for putting screenshots of London Preppy on the BBC News channel the other day, in some story about blogs, as seen here:
And finally, on Wednesday afternoon I ring up Scott and the following conversation takes place:
Me: Is this good or is this bad?
Scott: For Madonna?
Me: No, for us.
Scott: Neither. Anyway when did you hear this devastating news?
Me: 15 minutes ago.
Scott: And you waited all this time to tell me?
Me: Yes, I had to deal with this on my own first.
Scott: What did you do, take a walk in the park?
Me: No, I sat here and played Like A Prayer a few times.
And on this Wednesday afternoon as the world falls apart I put on a green t-shirt, pink and white striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, white knee-length shorts and no shoes, pick up a copy of American Psycho and leave the flat.
Sitting on the steps just outside, I read the last lines from the book:
“…and above one of the doors covered by red velvet drapes in Harry’s there is a sign and on the sign in letters that match the drapes’ colour are the words THIS IS NOT AN EXIT”
And try to be upset by this, try to be upset by the fact that THIS IS NOT AN EXIT, by the fact that THERE IS NO EXIT, even though I wasn’t let in in the first place.