Glenderful's Shit List: Son Heung-min
- Glen Loveland
- Dec 27, 2025
- 3 min read
2026 is looming like a bad hookup you can't shake, and I need everyone to STOP with the New Year's resolutions already. That little voice whispering "This year will be different"? Honey, it's the same delulu bitch that ghosts you by February when the gym's emptier than a straight bar on Pride night.
Clock it: research literally drags that nearly 80% of those vows flop by Valentine's Day, because a resolution is just one hungover January decision you're supposed to ride for 365 days like it's your last bottle of poppers. That's not change—that's chopped thinking, darling. Straight-up ugly and unattractive.
No, babe. Real glow-ups happen through daily, active redirection, not some calendar flip-flop where you pretend January 1st holds mystical transformative power. It doesn't. You're still you. Just colder and broker from holiday spending.
That's why I ditch that mess for my living, breathing, farting Shit List—it's not a dusty vision board gathering cobwebs in your childhood bedroom; it's my raw catalog of cravings, parking what my slutty soul is screaming for right now, no apologies. It's honest. It's active. It's what I'm actually obsessed with instead of pretending I'm gonna learn Duolingo Spanish for the fourth consecutive year.
And with that... drumroll, you thirsty hoes... my newest obsession hitting the board:
SON HEUNG-MIN!
This king, born July 8, 1992, in Chuncheon, South Korea, didn't just play football—he bulldozed into legend at 33, conquering the Premier League with Tottenham Hotspur like an absolute boss, snatching Golden Boots, FIFA Puskás Awards, and now lighting up LAFC in MLS after his 2025 move that had Koreans and gays across America screaming in unison. Lightning speed, killer footwork, that infectious smile—he's the superstar who wins hearts across oceans, even making Korean Tiger Parents swoon (and you KNOW how hard that is).
LA just got a whole lot hotter. Son's the prize that elevates any pairing, unapologetically elite.
His masculinity? Palpable as FUCK, a raw force that demands your gaze with every stride—black, shiny hair slicked back, screaming internal vitality and discipline like he's the final boss in a K-drama about peak physical form. Those buttocks? Firm, toned masterpieces from endless training, moving with graceful power that's both commanding and hypnotic, a feast that whets every appetite. I'm not being subtle. I'm being accurate.
Son's field dominance is sensory overload, magnetic as hell, weaving through defenders with precision that holds you captive like you're binge-watching Squid Game at 3 AM. He exploded from Germany (Hamburger SV, Bayer Leverkusen—yes, I said Leverkusen, calm down) to Tottenham legend, becoming the top Asian scorer in Premier League AND Champions League history—a record-smashing nightmare for haters and racists alike. Iconic.
Off-pitch? He balances that intensity with grounded realness: disciplined workouts like it's his love language, quietly funding a hometown football academy (a philanthropist? I'm wet), cherishing family time, travel, and Korean roots. His diet? Clean as fuck—balanced proteins, veggies, whole grains, the kind of rocket fuel that keeps you sprinting at 33 and looking like a photoshoot in motion.
Fun facts to gag on:
Fluent in Korean, English, German (trash-talk in three tongues? Yes PLEASE)
Cultural icon turning MLS games into Korean-American rallies with K-pop energy
The guy you root for even if football's not your game, especially when he nails that late winner and does that humble bow celebration
But let's get raw—can you even IMAGINE Son's shit? I'm betting it's that sticky soy-garlic glaze or fiery gochujang punch straight to the soul, fermented deep and unfiltered like proper kimchi. My mouth's watering like a broken firehose; I'd inhale it like a gluttonous faggot with no regrets, tongue-deep in that glory.
Diet? Starts Monday, bitches—today's for feasting.
Welcome to Glenderful's Shit List, Son Heung-min!
You're everything. You're perfect. You're mine. And you're proof that my Shit List is doing what New Year's resolutions could NEVER—keeping me actively obsessed with what actually lights me up instead of some performative self-improvement bullshit I'll abandon by Groundhog Day.
So throw out the resolutions, sluts. Make a Shit List. Put Son Heung-min on it. Live your truth.
