I know the GOP echo chamber can take any invented trope and ping it around until it's more or less accepted as fact, but in what alternate universe is Fred Thompson a manly hunk of carnal dreams? Let's ignore the gleaming bald pate festooned with liver spots, the bags under his eyes that bulge like a princess' cruise luggage and the likeliness that his breath reeks of an unwithering combination of brandy, worcestershire sauce, cigar smoke and 43-year old Orange County pink.
Actually, let's not ignore any of that since it's the crux of this post. Ladies, can you really say that you greatly desire this pile of flesh thrusting away on top of you, sweating glistening on top of his head, neck wattle flinging back and forth in opposite rhythm of his masculine pounding? You're intrigued by the idea of hearing his joints crack as he sits up, his breasts flapping and then watching his concave ass shuffle over to the kitchen to grab some orange Gatorade, rapidly deflating windsock shining in the light of the refrigerator? I am not fooled, partyliners.
The only thing holding back Fred Thompson from officially entering the circus is his team's frantic backroom negotiations trying to ensure that the GOP debates aren't aired in hi-def. Fred Thompson's acting career rivals John Grisham's writing for breadth. He exclusively plays a politician, lawyer or cop. But you know what role Fred Thompson could never pull off? Attractive Man #1.