sophie's choice: fuck marry kill
42

F/M/K: William H. Macy, Philip Seymour Hoffman, John C. Reilly

Natasha: Oh, Julie, remember 1999, wobbling along the edge of a millennium, when the word ‘aught’ was nothing more than an arcane dictionary entry — we, the accountants of pop-culture, lamented about the future like two lugubrious characters from a Tony Kushner play? The cinematic runes spelled doom for us: American Beauty, The Matrix, and, god help us, The Green Mile. It seemed as though the fires of virility and danger of the mid-‘90s, you know, the kind that involved Chloe Sevingy’s nipples, were snuffed out under the mawkish gauze of the Ron Howards and Sam Mendevis. When it seemed that we would all have to endure another decade [...]

39

F/M/K: Hugh Laurie, Rahm Emanuel, Anthony Bourdain

Natasha: Jewlz, this is a potent list of Silvery Fox Men you've thrown down.

I think I speak for all women and the 110th Congress when I ask: does it count as fisting if the dude only has four fingers? Even outside the parameters of this salt-n-pepper trifecta, Rahm ranks in single digits of my FUCK BUCKET LIST of all time. On looks alone he’s a hot piece of bone: hooded eyes, sharp cheek bones, and hands-on-hips Israeli paratrooper posture. It all just makes a girl like me (i.e. one who digs men of The Tribe) tingly. Though my unyielding sexual attraction to Rahm mainly stems from his [...]

44

F/M/K: Dustin Hoffman, Jack Nicholson, Warren Beatty

Julie: Where do we start, Natasha?? How do we begin? There is no origin story for this triad, there is only legend as it has always existed: a solstice, a sword in a stone, a shadow on concrete getting longer, shifting its angle but always there, every day, from when you could first notice shapes that bodies made on the ground when they were lit by the sun.

Three kings, as it goes this time of year, are under consideration, and all three are mighty, formidable, ‘70s men of the revolution.

I’ll start with Jack Nicholson, and OF COURSE I would fuck him. Any era, any age, any weight, [...]

23

F/M/K: James Gandolfini, Steve Buscemi, Michael Imperioli

Julie: Okay, NVC, first of all I'm glad you've chosen this HOLY TRINITY with which to kick off our Sophie's Choice: F.M.L. — I mean F.M.K. column, because I thought about it recently while I was watching Boardwalk Empire and I nearly had to slash my own face — CHICAGO PROSTITUTE STYLE — out of decision-related angst.

Readers, correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the impression that I'm the only woman on Planet Steve with a huge-emi Buscemi crush. I've wanted to hit it since Parting Glances, and after Reservoir Dogs I'd let him part my Mr. Pink Heyyyyy. I cringe whenever people describe him as creepy, bug-eyed, snaggle-toothed, and hunched over — because [...]

42

F/M/K: Bill Murray, Steve Martin, Chevy Chase

Natashy, this is tough like Jehu. Tough like the rind off a New York Strip from Tad’s Steaks. Tough like a horde of Hell’s Angels with filthy, stew-ingredient-ridden Santa beards.

I have been wrestling, Michael Shannon-style, with this trio of icons — but specifically with the sticky wicket of Chevy vs. Steve. I’ll explain it all in a bit for those of you rolling your eyes/flipping your hairs back and forth. But let’s just say the 92nd Street Y debacle helped me seal my deal.

Oh, obviously you marry Bill Murray. That is a no-brainer. Yes, he was probably an absent husbo in the way he is an [...]