This is what she had to say about her vibrator-powered orgasm scene in some incredibly bad movie that –let’s face it– you’re only going to see if (a) you don’t have a boyfriend, or (b) your boyfriend is such a pussy that his nickname in high school was “Vag-Lips”:

Oh, my God, it was a nightmare. It was really exhausting… legs dancing under the table and all the tensing-up of the body. By the end of the day, I felt like I’d run a marathon. No one wants to orgasm thirty-five times a day.

I have to think that Gerard holding that heart over his man-area means something. Probably "I love my penis," a sentiment shared by millions of gay men and Jennifer Aniston. Hm. Makes you think Extreme was right, and perhaps it does take more than words to show how you feel. After this post, I'm gonna make sure that my wang knows my love for it is real by, y'know, closing my eyes and just reaching out my hand.

Now, just to be clear, I don’t care about all those stories of how Heigl is a bitch. It’s my job as a man to put aside any petty complaints I might have about a beautiful woman’s putrid personality and appreciate her for the supple ass that gives her life meaning. (At least, that’s what I took away from the dust jacket of that Betty Friedan book I tripped over at Barnes & Noble the other day. Feminism is complicated. And hurty.) After all, there are dudes out there willing to do a couple years in a state pen just for the chance to shoot an upskirt of some random chick in the feminine hygiene aisle at Walmart… what kind of spoiled dickhole would I be if I failed to appreciate a visual feast like K.H.? I’m better than that. More or less.

Now we know why all the phosphorescent polar bears are dying out: Katy is skinning them and using their pelts as boob cushions. Which, in fairness, is a better fate than the one which awaits the spotted mockadoo chipmunk, which is being slowly driven to extinction to provide Danny DeVito with scrotal merkins.

But in my opinion, bitchy is one thing… deceptive is another. I mean, to just flat-out lie like that? She was exhausted from faking it? It was a nightmare? No one wants to orgasm thirty-five times a day? The woman was making a movie with Gerard Fucking Butler!

No Persians were harmed in the making of this photo.

That man is so sexy that the only reason I don’t want to fuck him is that it would be too much like boning my ugly twin brother. And bear in mind that I’m saying this, despite the fact that I’m so heterosexual that Georgia O’Keefe used to ask my advice on how to become more obsessed with vaginas. (I was six at the time, so it was a little weird, but she bought me cookies and porno. We worked it out.) When I say a man is sexy, that means he is the embodiment of everything the male of the species can hope to be.

Where was I? Oh, right. So, she wants us to believe that she had to fake orgasms even while being exposed to King Leonidas’ potent pheromone lure? I call horseshit! Forget being a widdle tired after sitting in a chair all day… she’s lucky The Phantom didn’t rattle her uterus loose in every scene.

I’m keeping an eye on you, Heigl! From a distance deemed respectful by the court, naturally.