Sure Kevin Coughlin is a tall drink of water. But I’m no longer thirsty.
You know what I am? I’m hungry for some meat in this competition. Hot, spicy sausage. The lady friends and I have discussed (and drooled over) the contendors, and here is my threesome for Sexiest Male Politician 2009:
Congressman Tim Ryan has been a site favorite, nay, shoo-in; however, that horse-in-the-headlights picture did little for me in The Professor’s post back in January. Upon further review, I picked up a copy of the Sexy Singles issue of Cleveland Magazine.
I am not in the 17th District, but you got my vote, if only by my salivating at both your coffee-drinking obsession and mere mention of chocolate cake with a warm, gooey center. Politicians: they certainly know how to spin a girl out of control! Especially when you forget to shave in the morning…
Rawr, Tim Ryan.
According to Cleveland Magazine, Tim despises tofu (another vote for meat!) and his passion in life includes: “relieving suffering in people’s lives.” I’m suffering, Tim — suffering by you not holding the title of Sexiest Politician already… And ahem, I’m brunette.
Is Jon Husted close enough to be included in our race? But of course! Because apparently his place of residence is arbitrary! Let’s hear it for former University of Dayton football star Husted! Yes, you can support Jon Husted on Facebook. This is in hopes, Husted, that you remember me upon becoming Ohio’s future Secretary of State. Then, not only will you hold the title of Sexiest Politician, you will lower my income taxes.
Look Ladies, he’s ready for the tackle — show him who Sexiest Politician is:
Not to be confused with that muckraking Parma fatty ”J. Kevin Kelley” who sold out all his friends in Cuyahoga County, my third and final nomination is for the unfortunate-namesake Cleveland City Council Ward 16’s Kevin J. Kelley. And with that nomination, I fully support any and all news media to hereby refer to you as Kevin “Juicy” Kelley, to further dissuade the powers-at-be to confuse you with the bastards associated with corruption in our city (C’mon, FACT CHECK, WKYC!!).
Keep it lush and bushy, Kevin. And by that, I mean the Parks and green spaces of your district, of course.
Turn and Coughlin
Nothing brightens my day more than an email message from The Professor with the words “loud sex” in the subject line, directing me to Cleveland’s freshest political sex scandal. Nothing, other than to be on the receiving end of said “loud sex” with GOP Hot Stuff Kevin Coughlin.
Yes, class, today we commence with a repeat lesson of Political Science 216: How not to kill your political career with open-legged, (and presumably, loud) pretty female staffers.
James Renner, recently-fired reporter of Scene, dropped a bombshell of an incriminating piece on the desks of his editors. Blogger Interrupted printed the story in its entirety here. Renner’s accounts provoked threatening lawsuits from the Coughlin camp and ultimately the demise of his writing career with the local weekly.
Allegedly, the story alludes to Coughlin’s extramarital affair with 24-year old University of Akron student, Andrea Wlaszyn during the summer of 2004. Or so says Wlaszyn’s “loud”-mouthed roommate.
Kevin, I don’t have roommates.
Wlaszyn may not have been the only one. Former Coughlin staffers say that he let a legislative aide named Whitney Page go after his wife became jealous of their close relationship. Coughlin denies this… Coughlin once got into a public shouting match with Representative Ray Miller outside a committee room at the statehouse over their mutual attraction for Christina Cooney, a Democratic Caucus staffer.
Whew. I’m almost the same age as Coughlin – I tire out quickly these days – no wonder his and Wlaszyn’s affair only lasted a summer. I also get bored easily, which is apparently something Kevin and I have in common. But then again, I am not possessive in my married-men affairs nor do I date the crazies:
Scene obtained Coughlin’s phone records through the State Senate. The documents show that in 2004, Coughlin frequently called both his wife and Wlaszyn’s cell phone before leaving the office at the end of the work day. For example, on December 8, 2004, at 4:57 p.m., Coughlin called home twice, then Wlaszyn’s cell phone five times, then home again for seven minutes, then four more calls to Wlaszyn’s cell.
Emphasis mine, of course. NINE phone calls within an hour? I’m hoping there was a Happy Ending somewhere in one of those voice mails messages.
In addition to our potential gubernatorial candidate “canoodling” in wineries and Sheraton hotels with sexy staffers, Renner reported that Coughlin is included as part of an investigation as to whether he “illegally altered petitions circulated trying to orchestrate a coup” against Bossman Alex Arshinkoff. That scenario was vaguely denied by Coughlin. Charges could potentially still be filed.
Why, with all that political bridge burning, petition manipulation, running-for-Governor-in-2010 shenanigans, how can one maintain such a happy family status AND a 24-year-old girlfriend?
Easy: post some happy family photos on your website.
And make sure you pack some duct tape in your overnight bag.
Recent headlines charge that Garfield Heights ODOT employees Dennis L. Kratochvil, Terrence M. Kosmata and Kevin M. Horrigan helped themselves to an inappropriate vendor schwag bag of strippers and hired garage out-call services, three-state “fishing trips” … and ham.
Kratochvil — singled out in majority of the inspector general’s report — paid-it-forward, utilizing the power of his penis to give household goods, cash and a waffled breast augmentation surgery to local Cleveland-area strippers. Surely, Kratochvil empathized with the need to fund these brilliant women’s nursing educations, once Cleveland’s P.M. in Garfield halted operations. One stripper is reported to have continued to receive money with false accusations of baby-daddy-hood.
STOP. THE. PRESSES! An exotic dancer lied to a man (who doesn’t necessarily think with the best “head”) in order to increase her individual net worth? Well, shit, doesn’t that just change my perspective on strip clubs?
Question, readers: is “fishing trip” a hilariously ironic euphemism for these sexy liaisons?
In that case, always, always go with the ham.
I’m not a huge fan of this season. I mean, that Spencer guy still will not shave that stupid beard, and I cannot believe that Audrina does not have more screen time, and Lo… Oh, wait – you’re in the wrong class again? Lecture Room 69 is down the hall…
Hi there, horny voters! Your Sex & Politics correspondent, Miss Mel is reporting once again for all your combined sexual and politico pleasure. We are consumed (already) by sexual scandals and hot gossip being on the brink of a Presidential election. I’m prepared to be on my knees and get to the meat of our candidates.
You may not already know this, but I would probably sleep with Tina Fey. Maybe it’s her sassiness. Or that shuttered look of a hot librarian ready to break out of her tortoise-shelled glasses and bun and do something just, I don’t know, naughty like tear pages out of books or something. Wait, does she wear a bun? Scratch that. Let’s just say buns. That being said, the reference to Sarah Palin, our potential newbie in the White House, being a wonky, albeit older version of Ms. Fey, had me thinking more about the potential-VPILF. A lot of women in both inside and out of the media have lashed out on her experience, while concentrating (nay, being threatened) by her appearance.
Palin’s nasally, Canadian-twanged voice shrills my ears to bleed, and she is certainly more meh then Fey.
With all men working in my office, I can’t exactly refrain from viewing Photo-shopped photos of Palin in a bikini… in a short skirt… or holding what looks to be military-issued gunnery. If this is hot, then just call me Maxim Top Whatever. I mean, I classify her pursed lips more as a frigid housewife, than those of a “pit bull with lipstick” (seriously, am I the only one that wasn’t in on this joke?). But if this was what you had in mind for your next political fantasy, by all means, jerk away. Wait, did this just turn into something slightly bestiality? What is with all the animal references? Did O’Malley somehow become a speech writer in this election?
Regardless, I left my soccer mom sexual exploits behind long ago when I realized 20-somethings started becoming more “curious.” But if Palin came a-calling, I would still rate her in the maybe-do-her category (but definitely do not vote for her). Perhaps I still have leftover power-struggle fantasies.
Or maybe she will introduce me to her daughter when she turns 18. I kissed a girl, and I liked it, Bristol.
Oh, that’s right; we’re not supposed to go there.
EXCESSIVE HEAT WATCH
No surprise, I have always found a crush among Cleveland’s celebrities. I spent majority of my hard-loving years chasing the bases from athlete to athlete, depending on how tight the pants were. But when Cleveland sports teams disappoint or the utility infielder gets traded, it is the weatherman in which I always seem to turn. There is something a little sexy about a science man that knows the weather.
I remember phoning a friend of mine the first day I saw A.J. Colby. (I’m fairly positive it was afternoons on Channel 8). “You have GOT to see the weatherman!” I squealed. Of course, she thought I was nuts because who rightfully wakes a 20-something with a bar job at noon to tell them about the weatherman? A.J. had some sort of charisma that oozed out of my television set. I hung on every five-day and dreamed of us in cumulus clouds. And then I realized it was summer and that I should probably get a life and maybe use the pool in my luxury apartment complex. When I switch on Channel 3 these days, I still feel a little tickle in my barometric pressure.
Years ago I had the opportunity to meet Jeff Tanchak of Action News fame after one too many losers and boozers in the Warehouse District. He and I glazed each other over, while I pretended to not recognize him, and he passed along his business card. We adored each other over AOL emails before and after each newscast (and I remarked how snazzy his suits were). But when the time came to meet again, a cold front moved in and left me hanging at Mercury Lounge. Through all the sleet and drizzle, he moved into meteorological purgatory for me. That was my melting point.
This leads me to my winner for sexiest Male Cleveland Celebrity: Jason Nicholas. I had him on my radar for an extended forecast, in which I told my own father that I would meet him one day. Then Dad wiped the drool off the TV screen…
A friend surprised me mere weeks later on my 30th birthday with a present of Nicholas in person. He was so incredibly dreamy, that I forgot English, and it was a huge dry punch to my ego. His eyes and hair of black ice, and the smile that hit me like a thunderbolt, all increased my SWEAT index. I even adore when he gets super excited about inclement weather and his forehead wrinkles in severity. Cleveland, I see Jason Nicholas performing his weatherman stuff and an urgent heat advisory is announced.
While no stranger to the female weather community either, I only have one female crush: Betsy Kling. Pregnancy has done you well, my little sea breeze! Done you well.
My favorite definition of the word “bull” is of the vulgar variety: a ludicrously false statement; nonsense.
Suggested by quoted e-mails between Mark Dann and his office love slave, Jessica Utovich, The Columbus Dispatch revealed Thursday that the ever-endearing moniker “bull” is the true pride of Mark Dann — his penis.
In an e-mail from Utovich to Dann, inquiring to the current status of “The Bull,” Dann inappropriately (read: nauseatingly) responded in the voice of the despaired longing of a horny 20-something, “it says it misses you.”
Utovich, as scheduled, reacted with, “it loves me.”
Nowhere in their reports was there mention of a giant Bull Mastiff or a running-with-the-bulls in Pamplona funded on Homeland Security’s dime.
For the novice in erectile comparison, a bulls’ penis length can reach three feet. Males, such as Dann, are seriously dwarfed in the world of animals. The nickname “bull” for the male anatomy is not only inaccurate, but horrifically presumptuous. However, I could not have created a more appropriate moniker, if I had 800 more columns to publish about either Dann’s bullshit administration or the status of his cock-iness.
For further reference, Dann’s balls are apparently nicknamed dog and horse. Nonsense, you say? Well, I call (sh)it like I smell it.
Breaking News: This just in! And out… and in… and out… and faster, faster.
Tawdry minx Barbara Walters recently gave TMI with some Oprah chick this week. It seems that while all sexual hell was breaking loose in the 70s, Babs (after already afflicted with two divorces) was dabbling in a little married-man love with Senator Edward Brooke of Massachusetts . While many sexual thoughts are provocatively processed about this newly gossiped Once-You-Go-Black Brooke scandal, all I can muster is… “ew.”
Who knew: Barbara Walters likes her a little Black Magic, if you know what I mean.
Of course, no comment about the personal relationship from Brooke, aside from a blatant book plug to the AP for his autobiography “Bridging the Divide: My Life.”