The activities you can choose to occupy yourself with on your morning mission around the sub-pavement hollows of London are depressingly sparse. They are usually limited to scowling heavily, trying to avoid tumbling into anybody’s lap like a drunken ragdoll and ensuring you don’t make eye contact with another commuter for fear of igniting your combined frustrations.
On my personal mission to avoid being trampled (by individuals who, I’m sure once above ground, are perfectly polite and pleasant but between 8.21am and 8.54am will morph into rhinos in ties and try to charge through you as if you’re merely a morning mirage induced by their caffeine overdose) I will usually try my best not to fidget like a five year old or piss anyone off, reducing movement to a minimum and often becoming engrossed in the front page news of whoever has been reluctantly compacted next to me. Unfortunately, my habit of read-stealing other people’s newspapers means that as soon as they inevitably turn the page and lower the paper wall between us, we’re plunged directly into an awkward stare-out as our eyes are forced to meet.
Some silver-lined mornings however, the sight behind the newspaper can be an absolute treat. This is called ‘winning the hotty-lottery’; the odds may be long but the rewards are mighty. My immediate reaction usually involves gawping for a moment, mouth a-jar, then resuming my scowl and engaging my acting skills to make it appear that I was actually attempting to focus on the ‘Wonga’ advert behind Mr. Beautiful’s head. “Hmmm, Wonga.” is how the thought bubble drawn above my head would read, “That seems like a sensible and low risk option for managing ones finances…” Of course this is a massive fail as he’ll now assume I’m a fucking idiot because ‘Wonga’ is of course the financial equivalent of large louts shouting ‘Tits’ in the street when they see a winning pair thinking it’s a viable ice breaking tactic.
I feared it might be some horrific stream of pictures of the most traumatic over crowded tube situations caught on camera-phone
Well, a recent online discovery has enlightened me to a far less cumbersome reaction to spotting a bit of totty on the tube: whip out your phone, pap the pretty man and deliver it to the geniuses at TubeCrush.com. On first hearing about this site, I feared it might be some horrific stream of pictures of the most traumatic over crowded tube situations caught on camera-phone, but no, thank the underground gods, it is a blog dedicated to ‘Paying Homage to the Hommes’ who brighten up so many admirers’ AM’s and PM’s. The format works so that images can be sent directly from phone to blog-keepers and just a couple jovial lines later and a well deployed pun here and there and our gent is logged on the TubeCrush.com stream. It’s no surprise that the idea has gone down almost as well as Natalie Portman in the film Black Swan.*
Of course, when I described the plot to a male friend he snarled something about aesthetically objectifying men and was pretty judgmental of its predatory nature. No offence to the individual, but it’s about time women caught up in the perving stakes if you ask me. The majority of male magazines glorify boobs, bums and bimbos, so why can’t the girls have a swoon over a fella engrossed in book? It’s multi-tasking at its best: the time you could have wasted missioning across London can now be put to great talent spotting use. Admiring men who are going about their normal business must be a perverted notion in many men’s heads. Call us crazy but women probably wouldn’t be so keen on seeing their eye candy on all fours across a centre page spread, wearing a slaggy school boy outfit with half their scrotum peeping out, lolly pop bulging in cheek and a deranged sex-starved expression. Instead we can fantasize that they are en-route to fight a dragon or heroically unblock a sink somewhere: there is a lot to be said for the attraction of real, accessible men.
Women were made to prey on the male species in this way. It’s just taken a while for technology to catch up
As far I know thus far, there is a gap in this particular market for a men-admiring-women version of this site. However, they are the obvious hazards to be aware of in suggesting such a venture, such as the possibility of a barrage of ‘up-skirt-shots’ plaguing the site (you may have heard, there is already an abundance similar material online), not to mention the rage it would incur in women being snapped at their most foul tempered moments. I was poised to embark on a little Google research to see what the male equivalent of TubeCush.com might be, but it dawned on me just in time that tapping ‘pictures of fit women on tube’ into Google was probably a fairly naive move; unfortunately I don’t have the time or the inclination to wade through that volume of filth.
I have certainly had my hawk eyes out on every tube journey since finding out about this game: no longer am I stationary and dozing on my morning mission, instead I’m excitedly foaming at the mouth and weaving wide eyed through blocks of bodies to seek out a tasty cheeky chappie. If only my taste went beyond heavily bearded men who appear to have never discovered a shower I might have snapped something that would actually make the editors’ cut….
I’m not trying to justify papping people on public transport, or objectifying men through reducing them to merely visually spectacular manpieces, but if you’re able to be sly enough to give an entertaining nod to guy doing a good service to the most uncomfortable hour of most women’s day, then what’s the harm? Besides, wiley women are born with ideal skills of subtlety for this which many men could never hope to replicate. With their small hands, sixth sense, feline like reflexes and ability to fake-pose for photos while their friend actually snaps the man behind them, women were made to prey on the male species in this way. It’s just taken a while for technology to catch up…
*(If you don’t know what I mean by this then you need to watch it. Maybe just skipping to about ¾ of the way through…)
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