I don’t mean to kiss and tell, but I’ve had my share of secret lovers. And when they look at me, they look like Jessica Simpson does here, as she gazes lovingly at her personal trainer, giving him the come hither look, normally reserved for when things bounce up into her UNDERcarriage. She doesn’t even seem to care that the paparazzi busted her falling in love. I don’t ask much from my woman – if they could just not cut my penis off in my sleep then throw it into a field, we’re cool – but somewhere a little lower on the list is to at least change clothes before you come home after planning your affair. That would really be swell.
When might Tony develop?
