I was cruising the ole internet this morning and came across this picture. Literally. I was stopped in my tracks because of how handsome this photo of Peter Dinklage is. I mean, imagine yourself walking off an elevator and Peter Dinklage with his flowing locks comes bounding down the hallway.
“Hey, Carl. Good morning,” he says while looking at you in the eyes. No one ever does that anymore. Eye contact. It’s so fucking vital, right? It’s the heartbeat of casual conversation. It displays calm, cool confidence that’s lost in this age of millennials. Fucking millennials with their god damn phones.
“Hey, Peter. Looking sexy. I mean. Oh god. I mean, you look nice today.”
He winks at you. He knows he looks great today. It’s the sport’s coat and the way that his slacks ever so gently cradle his penis like a newborn baby all swaddled up and ready to brave the cold.
Like the real G that he is, Peter starts smoothly whistling as he steps on the escalator without a care in the world. What he’s whistling?
Nice. Peter drips sax. See ya, Dink. (lage)