I’m sort of scared to write anything about how ridiculous Channing Tatum is. Despite not being able to list one film he’s been in (because he’s an actor, right? Like…for a living? Okay, just checking…), I’m apparently in a stringent minority: Channing’s fan-base is rabid, and willing to die for their hero (was he the guy in Avatar? No? Damn.) But now the Stop-Loss star (seriously, I am not even going to look up what he’s been in; it’s the principle of the thing,) has finally done something to make him stand out from the crowd. He’s burnt his dick!
During an interview with Details magazine this month, Channing let this little gem slip from his chiseled lips about working in ice-cold water during a movie shoot:
“The only way to keep warm was by pouring a mix of boiling water and river water down your suit. We were finally done shooting for the day, and one of the crew guys asks if I want to warm up before I go. I’m like, Nah, I’m good. And then I thought, Why not? Thing is, he’d forgotten to dilute the kettle water. So he poured scalding water down my suit. And I was trying to pull the suit away from my body to somehow get away from the boiling water, and the more I pulled the suit away, the lower the water went. It just went straight down and pretty much burned the skin off the head of my dick.”
Tatum was rushed to the nearest hospital–an hour away. Before long, the ice pack he was applying to the burn lost its chill. “I said to the driver, who was ex-special-forces Marines, ‘You might have to knock me out, because I don’t know if I can take the pain. Just grab something and hit me on the back of my head.'” Morphine finally KO’d the agony, and a team of doctors salved and bandaged his wound. “I had five guys looking at my shriveled, burned penis,” he says proudly.
Now, I never asked to have the image of Channing Tatum’s burnt, shriveled penis seared in my memory today. I did not wake up this morning and think “I wonder what that guy who sort of looks like a blander version of Brad Pitt but with a big nose has going on downstairs?” I promise you, Tatum-ites (is that what you call yourselves? You should.), I never meant to imagine your man with a pink, burned scrotum. But now I can’t get that image out of my head. At some point you just have to wonder: “is my celebrity obsession really worth it?”