Oh, hot, throbbing, muscle cakes. The Channing Tatum Mouth Garbling-Stripper-Chest Nipple-Steak-And-Ab-Sweat-Lick-Moat movie trailer is here! Are you excited? Should you be excited? Well, that depends. How much do you care about Channing’s climb from stripper to what, a furniture maker? Uh, an inexplicable Hollywood star? Er, uh, a walking, gyrating, pot roast of sex dimples and cake frosted ass cheeks?
This is what he is, right? Aside from that little jaw-mashing he does in movies where words come out of his face wrapped in hubba-bubba of dumb, he can dance! And he has a body! The movie studio wins! Face. Tree.
So yes, Channing is a successful yet unfulfilled stripper. Bummer. That’s got to be like the saddest thing in the whole wide world, a piteous, wailing hunk-man sad about his ability to make dollar bills leap from fingers and into his cash register made of testicles. Could this be Showgirls for the 2000’s? Elizabeth Berkley is somewhere chuckling hoping Channing will top her film as worst thing ever about trashy exploitation. Will it happen? Nah.
You see this is about boy strippers, so it’s okay if we see them launching their throbby pogo sticks into the faces of various strange women. There’s nothing at all controversial about that, so much so a whole movie is made about it co-starring leather shoe hide, Matthew McConaughey! Can you say double standard?
Anyway, Channing wants a girl, you know, one who doesn’t mind that he digs doing the thrust-pump-ooh-ah-“Who Let The Dogs Out” for single bills, ’cause what he’ll do for a $20 spot, well you just don’t want to know hardy-har-har-gulp! Eye-wiggle, eye-wiggle, you know you love it. So this is this thing about Channing’s life before he was found in a lowly ditch with just his muscles and cloak of sex-face sneers to keep him warm.
Drink up, ladies and gents!
