Matt Bomer Made Me Gay
So I caught the season premiere of USA’s White Collar last night. I don’t think I’ve ever watched the show, although I admit to having been inundated with commercials for its new episodes for weeks leading up to it; they punctuated each marathon of Law & Order: SVU that I willingly submitted myself to with enervating regularity and to the point where I now have the song from the ad, Ghostland Observatory’s Sad Sad City, on repeat on my iPod because I can’t feel normal without it ringing in my ears. Anyway, after sitting through it for an hour last night, I have something important to say to White Collar‘s star.
Damn you, Matt Bomer. Damn you.
I’ve always considered myself a straight guy, despite a past littered with deviant sexual exploits of all shapes, sizes and proclivities. But I’m not ashamed to say that you, Matt Bomer, have made me gay. You are sincerely the best looking man anyone’s loins have ever deposited on this planet. Gazing into your steely blue eyes and upon your flawlessly chiseled features, your just-right amount of maybe two o’clock shadow, your perfectly groomed hair that comes loose to hang free at all the proper moments, and of course your 50s-style John Varvatos and Paul Smith suits and exquisite placement of pocket squares — it’s simply all too much to take. It turns me into a puddle of sigh and makes my two-sizes-too-small heart go pitter-patter. It’s like touching the face of Jesus while having a rainbow made of baby smiles jammed up your ass and sucking off a unicorn.
I never really gave you much thought until now, but I do seem to remember that you recently came out of the closet — in a way that, characteristically, was subtle and classy — and it leaves me broken and confused, knowing that there’s actually a possibility that I could have you. I know you have a boyfriend already, but given that I spent most of last night post-White Collar creating a Matt Bomer voodoo doll that I then sprinkled with magic dust — okay, so it was shaken-out dandruff — and stuffed into the front of my pajama pants, I’m hoping you’ll at least give me a chance to prove myself to you. Sure, I’m not famous or anything, but I’m totally prepared to be the Bella to your Edward: completely obsessed to the point of embarrassing myself and ready to present my neck to you so that I can be “turned” and be with you in gay bliss forever. Or at least until you get bored of me, leaving me to sit on the floor of my shower rocking back and forth and crying uncontrollably.
I know that you will break my heart, Matt Bomer. I know this — and yet I still can’t resist you. Because you are a god among mere mortals like me. Who wouldn’t risk it all for a chance to be with that?
I love you, Matt Bomer. And yet I hate you. I hate you for doing this to me.
But in the end I could never stay mad at you. Because in the end, I know that I just can’t quit you.
I want to be the White on your Collar.