Gather ‘round the porcelain throne, you filthy little manifestors—it's time for another divine download straight from the Universe's asshole. The Universe doesn't scream. It whispers. It slides a craving so deep into your brain stem that by the time you notice, you're already feral, drooling, begging for it. That's how it got me with Melvin Gregg. One quiet little throb in my temples... and way lower... and suddenly this Glenderful is wide open, flushed pink, and starving for

We are gathered here today to christen the newest entry on the official Glenderful Shit List™—the men so premium, so top-tier, so exquisitely bred that serving them would actually be a public service. And honey, today the universe just dropped a six-foot-five Australian-Spanish fantasy right into our porcelain throne. Jacob. Fucking. Elordi. Sometimes I stand in front of the Shit List at 3 a.m., half a bottle of rosé deep, having a full menty b, whispering to the framed photo

Listen up, you hungry bitches – Glenderful here, dropping the hammer on my Shit List. This ain't your granny's roster of nice guys; it's a hall of fame for alphas who command premium toilets, the kind of men who'd leave you begging for more without an apology. Today, we're plunging deep into the slick world of LA's twin terrors: Jason and Brett Oppenheim. These bald-headed beasts didn't just build an empire – they fucked their way to the top of luxury real estate, turning man