Glenderful's Shit List: Young Mazino

Screw your gratitude journals, bitches—some days, my only “gratitude” is the mania when a God like Young Mazino crashes into my orbit like a Soju-fueled meteor. Welcome to Glenderful’s Shit List, where I immortalize the men that detonate my soul, leaving me to crawl through hot, sticky coals just to lick their boots clean. This Korean-American enigma isn’t just haunting my fantasies—he’s fucking them raw, leaving my dignity in tatters and my mind (what’s left of it !) begging for mercy. Young’s that spice you don’t just taste—you choke on it, aching for that flavor long after he’s wrecked you.

Born Christopher Young Kim, is a six-foot machine with a vibe that gives mania. Perched on a toilet? Not a violation—it’s performance art, his ass cheeks so plump and obscene you’re ready to kneel and worship right there in the stall. That jawline? Sharp enough tomake you beg for more. Those puppy-dog eyes? Don’t be fooled—they’re steel-laced traps, haunted with hunger, ready to own you and make you forget your own fucking name. His body? A lean, veiny altar of muscle and grace—moves like a stripper, hits like a fighter. He’s not just hot; he’s a fever, dragging you into a dark alley till you’re screaming in Hangeul. Straight guys? Questioning. Bigots? Suddenly craving Korean BBQ. I’m feral, gagging, obsessed—and I’d sell my soul for one sweaty sesh with him.

That ass? Oh, fuck me—it’s a plump, high peach so perfect it deserves its own OnlyFans. Architectural, sinful, a wrestler’s cradle you wanna bury your face in till you suffocate. Leather, light, or butt-naked, it’s a gospel of flesh: that cleft, that dimple, that beckoning slope screaming “eat me” It’s not just an ass—it’s a religion, masculine, ecstatic, and infuriatingly untasted. I’d tongue that hole till my jaw locks, then beg for him to sit on my face till I’m seeing stars. His whole body? Fluent “Unattainable Daddy”—but that ass is the pulsing heart of the sermon.

Born in Maryland to fierce Korean immigrant parents, sandwiched between two sisters, Young was marinated in artsy heat—violin, recitals, school plays. Ditched college (University of Maryland dropout gang, rise up) and hustled to New York, grinding at Stella Adler Studio. Breakout? Paul Cho in Beef (2023)—a role so throbbing, every queer, curious, and housewife with Safe Search Off was Googling, “Who’s that fuckboy?!” Emmy nod, internet jizzing in under a year. Young says he vibes with Paul—stuck in the middle, hungry and haunted, chasing light while the world tries to cage him. SAG-AFTRA made him pick a new name, so he cooked up Young Mazino.

Young’s not just a hottie—he’s a hustle god. Bikes cross-country for kicks, makes artsy documentaries with his crew, and survived corporate America as a business intelligence analyst at a skincare company (safe word: spreadsheet). For Beef, he bulked up—those pecs and biceps now straining his shirts like they’re begging to be ripped off. Off-set? Still a thirst trap: abs you could grind on, thighs that could crush your skull, and that ass? A cultural landmark I’d rim till I pass out. Most recently? Jesse in The Last of Us Season 2 (HBO).

Young’s not just a man—he’s a cultural revolution. Hollywood’s finally giving Asian-American kings their spotlight, and Young’s leading the charge, shirtless and swinging. Music geek, gym rat, art lover, suit-wearing analyst—he’s no cliché side dish; he’s the main fucking course, complex and unrepentant. His DNA-deep hustle makes me wanna chase my wildest dares. He’s the throb in my bones after a shot of soju, the blush I can’t explain when I’m rubbing one out to his IG. Every post is a masterclass in horny purpose—cultural pride, raw hunger, and a body that says, “Come get this, bitch.”

My Shit List isn’t just a lineup—it’s a shrine to the men that light me on fire. Young Mazino? He’s intellect, beauty, and illegal-ass presence in one throbbing package. He makes me feel alive. Gratitude? It’s not some beige yoga bullshit—it’s honoring the men who make my my heart race. Young’s the main character, and I’m starving for every bite.

Young, if you’re reading: Don’t make me wait to feast on that BBQ. I’d crawl through kimchi-soaked coals, tongue out, to slurp that ass and beg for your load. Bring it, daddy—I’m ready to choke!