Furrowed Frank is such a mainstay in contemporary entertainment, visible everywhere on screens big and small
. ‘Course, many a pop culture aficionado insists what F2 does is definitely not entertainment, but it is. Indeed, the dude’s whole life is as meticulously written as his hair is coiffed. And that ain’t just my big-hair Texas exaggeration shootin’ off, trust.
Here’s how F2’s love life plays out, for ince. Oh, and need you even guess? Yes, bien sûr, F.F. is a closeted gay man, do they not make any other kind in this biz any more? I swear, I really do think we’re regressing since the time of Rock Hudson and that ersatz marriage to his secretary. I mean, get real. Andy Dick and his dubious hangers-on are practically the only friggin’ tier of boy-swingin’ guys to come clean, save a few souls like T.R. Knight, who was forced outta the closet, anyway.
Look, Furrowed had a b-f for a while, all fairly discreet 'n' stuff, never really got out there that much in the gay-sniffing zeitgeist that’s so increasingly prevalent…our apologies if this Vice department’s only expedited that dynamic, but I think it would have happened anyway. Now, F2 and his man have busted up. And since since Frank is under such tremendous pressure to perform before his mouthwatering public, Franky-poo’s needs must not go unmet, correct?
Furrowed’s trainer sure seems to think so. The big ol’ cut and ab-perf hunk has taken it upon himself to procure dates for Furrowed. And the damn guy’s straight! But that doesn’t stop him from interviewing potential exquisitely muscled men on the floor of the gym where he trains F.F., usually beginning with a query such as, “How would you feel if a big celebrity found you attractive and wanted to go out with you?”
Initial response is key here. If the boy’s dark eyes (as they almost always are, as Mr. F loves him some Latino lovin’) light up instantly, that’s usually a signal to go to the next step, which is either making the intro right there on the gym floor, or an almost immediate dinner or coffee setup. See, F ain’t got much time.
We could blame it on his pressing and highly visible work schedule, s'pose, but that wouldn’t really be accurate. More to the nooky-crazed point would be that Frank is much more interested in moving on to the next bulging find his trainer procures for him—rather than getting to know any of the fixed-up fellas, at all.
How long will it be before one of the quickly discarded dudes gets supersteamed and goes to the tabs, we wonder? Not very.