So Johnny Depp was photographed in London on the set of Mortdecai looking like a mash up of Kevin Kline in Soapdish and Gary Oldman’s Commissioner Gordon and I don’t know how I feel about it. Normally Johnny goes straight to the “would fuck” column with very few exceptions (same goes for Kevin and Gary). He can keep Willy Wonka, who was one blur filter and a sassy collar hold away from being a pin-up for Glamorshots, and his creepy ass Frodo Baggins version of the Mad Hatter but otherwise, I thought he could get it anytime.
I already had enough fucking problems with my tears freezing this morning because my pansy assed, native Californian self can’t take this “four degrees with a fifteen below windchill” stuff. These pictures of Johnny in his Motel 6 bedspread shorty shorts and sock suspenders made my vagina cry and thanks to this bullshit weather, I’m pretty much an automatic ice dispenser from the waist down. It’s a sad day when not even the pics of him rolling around on the ground with another dude can turn my frozen tundra into a sunny lanai.
Call me when Johnny starts wearing forty-seven bracelets and six scarves again and his hair doesn’t look like it was harvested from a Cabbage Patch Cornsilk doll. When hot hobo Johnny is back, if you hear about the arrest of a 35 year old Midwest housewife who tried to tackle him while pointing at her crotch and screaming, “THERE SHOULD BE A CAPTAIN IN THERE SOMEWHERE!”, please have bail money ready.
I guess the only question left to ask is: would you hit it??