The Overtake Team 24th December 2018
Christmas time is here! You may have noticed The Overtake’s copious amount of jolly festive content. This year, I have had the pleasure of working alongside a team of wonderful and talented journalists. I have worked with editor-in-chief Robyn Vinter, and associate editors Abigail Fenton and Ethan Shone, and it’s by their grace and proximity that I, Richard Worth, can quietly and humbly make the claim that I am a journalist.
Anyway, in what I assume is the next step in a normal journalism career, they made me collect images of actors who have played Santa so they could discuss how much they would like to have sex with them. As a result, we have broken the cardinal rule of never, ever being horny on main. But there is something very funny about a bisexual woman, a lesbian and a straight guy discussing whose chimney they would most like to get stuck in, even though it made me feel ashamed of myself and I now drink in the mornings.
At first, this article seemed like an opportunity for a bit of a laugh, but the real nature of my task had not revealed itself to me. Innocently enough, I started recalling Santas from memory. It might say more about me than my colleagues that Tim Allen was the first to spring to mind.
Robyn: Definitely not top of my Christmas list. Respect for the moustache but the beard is totally out of proportion and a complete turn-off. He’s quite stylish, but it gives him the vibe of that really arrogant guy at a party who thinks he’s the shit. You never know though — sometimes when it gets really late and you talk one-on-one he turns out to be quite charming. So I’d say he’s potentially redeemable.
Ethan: Full disclosure, and without sounding like a worried dudebro who just inadvertently touched hands with a buddy, I’m totally straight. With that being said, Tim Allen’s moustache in this shot is making me feel a certain kinda way, and I keep finding my eye being drawn to that big ol’ belt buckle for some reason. Sexuality is a spectrum, anyway.
Abigail: He has a veneer of arrogance that I find really off-putting in men. Like, I would much rather punch him in his face than sit on it and I don’t really know why. I don’t like his vibes, I guess. Just talking about theoretically sitting on Tim Allen’s face is actually making me all kinds of uncomfortable so I imagine things would not go well in practice. There’s something vaguely Aberforth Dumbledore-esque about him that did make me consider it, though.
A classic St Nick right? The pun “St Dick” inadvertently flashed across my mind, and the first echoes of shame passed through me. Richard Attenborough is a legend of British cinema and a national hero. Who am I to offer him up as some sex toy? While I wrestled with the metaphysical quandary of whether we were rating the depictions of Santa or the actors themselves, my colleagues occupied themselves with the nuances of his costume.
Robyn: Why is he wearing gloves? They’re not the woolly gloves of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors. They’re the gloves of someone who has something to hide. Or possibly a second-rate magician. If the gloves are coming off though, I’m on board with this entire wholesome situation.
Abigail: I guess I can imagine those gloves sliding up my thighs. However, as a big proponent of dirty talk, I would much rather have David because he could narrate our encounter as if we were Chinstrap penguins making sweet, tender love on the shores of Antarctica. That’s what Planet Earth is, right? Mostly penguin porn?
Attenborough was the tentative question, “Is this an okay or even normal thing to do?” Goodman was the answer, “No, it’s fucking not.” Look at those rosy cheeks and lovely smile. It’s John Goodman. America’s Dad. With this, I realised what I had become. Some withered festive madam trotting out innocent Santas in a gingerbread cat house.
Robyn: I’d love to know what’s under the hat. It looks like long flowing locks which, if it is, is a huge selling point. However, the beard needs some work and I get the sense it would feel a bit like fucking your friend’s grandad (hopefully not a familiar feeling to many people).
Ethan: Look how safe this man could make you feel. Stare into his barely-open eyes and ask yourself truly whether a night with this man would resolve all your deepest insecurities. It would, wouldn’t it? I’d curl up like a little cat-boy on John Goodman-Santa’s big wiry-haired chest given half a chance. I’d lovingly take off his boots after a long night of delivering joy to the world, cooing softly while I tugged at the buckles, then follow him upstairs. What I’m saying is that were he Up For It, John Goodman-Santa would get it.
Abigail: No. John Goodman is a father figure. Not for fucking.
Abigail alone restored my faith in Christmas. Robyn and Ethan convinced me of their perversion. Maybe my shame would be lifted by going for alternative Santas? Perhaps if I didn’t cross a line, my coworkers wouldn’t either. They are pretty disgusting, so it is a gamble, but here goes. Vince Vaughn strikes me as a kind of handsome party guy. Part of me thinks he’s kind of be up for this.
Robyn: YES. Is there a way to make this happen? Vince, if you’re reading this, slide into my DMs.
Ethan: This doesn’t seem fair. Vince Vaughn is objectively attractive, or he certainly was in 2007 when Fred Claus dropped. This is bringing Messi to your five-a-side league at the leisure centre. Well, I mean, not Messi, but like a solid championship winger — a Snodgrass, perhaps, or an Alioski. Anyway, for the fact that Vince Vaughn seems so much more likely to send a 4am “you up” text to every woman in his contacts than anyone else on this list, it’s a no.
Abigail: I’ll never forgive him for hurting Jennifer Aniston. Hard pass.
Well, Abi passed again. To be fair, men aren’t really her bag, but that didn’t stop Ethan. Next up, Goldberg. As a wrestler, he is used to performing — or faking — strenuous physical activities for the sheer enjoyment of others. Plus, look at those guns.
Robyn: The braces are nearly enough to win me over but roid-rage is very unappealing and I absolutely know he would drip sweat on whoever or whatever he’s having sex with, which is revolting.
Ethan: Any man who could literally tear me apart like a warm bread roll if he wanted is A-Okay in my bang book.
Abigail: His smile is pure and, judging from the size of his bicep, he could probably shatter my bedframe into a million pieces, so yes. What’s with the “nice” tattoo though? Does he have one on the other arm that says “naughty” or is Santa a capital N, capital G Nice Guy now? I might have to reassess if that’s the case because my body is a sacred temple and I will not let a Nice Guy inside it.
Almost three for three. Either it’s this booze or the Santa-inspired voyeurism — listen, the guy watches you while you’re sleeping, that’s not cricket — but part of me wants to bag them all. I need them to love my girls, and by girls, I mean ageing, white-haired men with beards and bellies like bowls full of jelly. Perhaps this was always what I was meant to do. Perhaps I’m a Christmas pimp.
Robyn: Right, I mean yes sure, but he’s trying way too hard so he’s probably extremely vain — which means selfish in bed. Or he could be that type of fit where they look really good and it’s quite puzzling that they’re cracking on to you but after a few minutes you realise they’re compensating for something — a personality.
Ethan: As an impatient, materialistic person I’m usually hoping Santa comes early, but this guy can take as long as he wants.
Abigail: It’s getting! Hot in here! So take off! All your clothes! 😉
The two of them that don’t like sex with men went for it, and Robyn, that twat*, turned down Russell. Russell. My best… well, not girl, but he’s the best. I’ll teach her. You don’t know how well you could have had it!
Robyn: Are we assessing Chandler here? This one is too meta for me. I like a man in glasses but I’d probably try Superman first.
Ethan: Can we stop? I’m worried about how this ends. Like, I know that 1. we’re not supposed to be looking at Joey and 2. that’s not a real six-pack, but still. Me-ow.
Abigail: This is difficult. On the one hand, sure. On the other hand, can Monica borrow the costume instead? If I’m going to fuck a Friend, I’d much prefer it be the one I actually fancy. And Monica knows things about the female body. SEVEN!
Hah. I knew Chandler couldn’t possibly do it for any real humans. Well, thought that was bad did you? How about a load of this?
Robyn: Let’s not pretend we’re not curious. I’m going to assume there’s essentially a human-like penis under there somewhere. I’m open to other ideas — I could probably work with anything. It’s all academic, anyway. I would never fuck a Christmas-ruining prick.
Ethan: Show us what you’re packing, Mr Grinch. Show us that green and, presumably, hairy schlong. Then we’ll decide.
Abigail: The Grinch’s anti-capitalist ideals and misanthropy turn me on a little bit, ngl. But would I let him put his giant, hairy deformed-green-chilli-pepper fingers inside me? Well, that’s just my own sweet and sexy secret. A lot of people probably want to bone the Grinch now that Benedict Cumberbatch voices him, and to that I say: get help.
These guys are an annoying combination of impossible to please and inconsistent in their perversions. Chandler is “too-meta” but the Grinch… “oh, maybe”. They forced me into XXX-mas, to play this shallow, misandrous role, and now they willy-nilly judge, dismiss and demean the gifts I bring them, in this, the most festive of seasons.
Here, in my alcohol-filled dispair, I sink to depths unfathomable. This objectification, at once compelling and revolting, has broken me, but here I add ageism to the mix. My apologies Mr Jakobi. I know deep down you’re probably a sweet man. But I want these perverts to be as disgusted with Christmas as I am with myself.
Robyn: What the hell is this? Is that blood in his beard? That’s not very Christmassy.
Abigail: Only if everything about him was completely different.
Billy Bob Thornton
Alexa, show me a picture of “dirty”.
Robyn: This is a tricky one, but essentially, anyone who says they wouldn’t is lying out of shame. He’s the kind of Santa that you’d be super into after a few sherries. Your friend’s like: “Robyn are you absolutely sure you want to go home with that dude?” And you’re slurring: “I can make up my own mind, Becky. Y’always tryna tell me what to do!” But the next morning you realise Becky had a point and you owe her a huge apology. So I’m going to say yes to banging Bad Santa, and I’d probably do it more than once, but I certainly wouldn’t tell anyone about it.
Ethan: *fingers own bellybutton suggestively*
Abigail: I think I got herpes from this picture.
Merry Christmas, pervs.
*Robyn is not a twat. She is very lovely, and this criticism was pre-approved. Plus, she can’t stop me, the twat.**
**This comment was not approved.
The Overtake Team 24th December 2018