Every Which Way

How many times have you heard me say it?  I like what I like.  And, still, eight times out of ten, what I like astounds me.

On paper, I shouldn't be drawn to somebody like 26-year-old Brian Cage, aka Kris Logan.  Wolverine sideburns, side-o-beef physique, with an incongruously boyish face stuck on top of it.  It's even what you might call "impish"--that face--and I don't do "impish."  Or so I thought.  But look at him here--the guy makes me wanna roar and bite somebody.

What gives?  I say I don't care for twinks, and in twenty-four hours I'm salivating over Zack Novack or Klown or Ashton Vuitton.  Then I say I don't like bodybuilders big as Chryslers, and that night I'm whacking off to Joe Weider magazines in the bathroom.  So, okay, then, "Consistency" is never going to be my middle name.  Neither, apparently, is "Gaydar."  Sue me.

Don't I have a definable "type"?  In these pages, I've lusted after pretty boys, regular blue-collar stiffs, midgets, and even (gulp) ladies.  Just what the fuck triggers this cock of mine anyway?

Is nobody safe?  Does something in me just snap, and I'm ready to bone whomever chance or Google casts in my direction?  Let's just say this, as a sort of tentative thesis, in an attempt to get a handle on this conundrum:
If it wrestles, there's a 70-90% probability that I'll want to hump it.  
Alligators, beware.

 Photo by Charles Thomas

Cage is 6'1", 240#'s worth of California muscle dude ... archetype? or stereotype?  you decide.  All I know is I want to swallow some highly experimental pills at a top-secret government laboratory, then turn swole, green, and angry, and beat up on this guy.

His controversial shot at a spot in the WWE seems to have soured, and I'm not sure where, if anywhere, he wrestles now.  I like that he's one of the few pros who spoke openly of his respect and admiration for Chris Kanyon when he died last month.  And, come to think of it, I do kinda like that impish look in his eyes.


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