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

Let’s keep it all the way real. Glenderful’s Shit List isn’t about ranking hotties—it’s about honoring main character energy. The kind of presence so magnetic it shuts off the noise in your head with one look. No words needed. You just feel it. And Jayson Tatum? He’s not just on the list. He is the list. St. Louis born. Chaminade to Duke. Drafted third by Boston—and he said, Bet. Since then? All-Star. All-NBA First Team. The man ended a championship drought and carved his