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Look at Matt Bomer, pretending he needs to shave. Whenever a hair alights upon his face an angel sweeps down from heaven on a bed of sea-breeze scented of rose petals and kisses it between their lips, alighting back into outer space where each fine hair transforms into a star dotting the night sky. That razor is blasphemy - turn away!
In related news it's Matt Bomer's husband Simon Halls' 53rd birthday today, but he can go fuck himself. He gets to wake up to this every morning - I'm not wishing him a happy anything. Hey look it's Matt half naked in front of some bookshelves...
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