Let's dive balls-deep into Bollywood's sweaty, spicy chaos! For this edition, we're plunging headlong into the kaleidoscopic whirl of saris and spotlights, tabla beats thundering like a monsoon heartbeat, dance numbers that erupt in a frenzy of color and sweat. Forget Hollywood's limp-dick superhero reboots choking on billion-dollar flops – India's cranking out cinematic nukes that make Tinseltown look like a VHS tape. While Hollywood reels from the streaming wars' endless bu

Life's this wild, tangled fuckfest of an expedition straight into the brambled wilderness of your own soul, right? We're all out here chasing those elusive "wins"—peak gains, god-tier strength, or that ride-or-die bae who makes your pulse throb. But nah, we keep confusing experiments (those boring data dumps, yes/no bullshit) with real exploration: plunging balls-deep into the unknown, no map, just raw vibes, courage, and that wide-open vulnerability begging to be filled. The

Let’s cut the bullshit. The world doesn’t need another cookie-cutter “Sexiest Man Alive” list churned out by some spineless PR firm chasing ad dollars. That’s not us. Glenderful’s Shit List is a middle finger to safe, a shrine to the raw, the untamed, the stupidly magnetic. We’re here for men who don’t beg for the spotlight—they are  the goddamn spotlight. And Eric Bana? He’s the whole fucking sun. Born Eric Banadinović in the gritty suburbs of Melbourne—Broadmeadows and Tull