Arukou

 I have watched Chris Evans rip a log in half at least a hundred times by now and not a single one of those times was wasted.

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Shower thought: Does Boston-boy-through-and-through Chris Evans die a little inside when he has to say he’s from Brooklyn?

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Sometimes I look at RDJ and think, “I shouldn’t find you attractive. All your features are just weird.” But somehow they combine into a human being who I look at and think, “Yes!”

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I cannot hear “Boom Boom Pow” without picture CEvans in his underwear. Halp. (Anna Faris is there too, but she doesn’t do it for me.)

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I’ve had a horrifying thought.

Channing Tootem

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Things I have said about CEvans multiple times: Congratulations on your stupid long legs.

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(Superbowl)

I am imagining CEvans sitting on the edge of his seat freezing his ass off while his beloved Pats suffer and he’s just quietly reminding himself over and over, “They won in the last quarter last year. It’s fine. They’re gonna be fine. My babies are gonna be fine,” in his Boston drawl like some kind of Dorito-shaped mother-hen.

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I had a dream last night starring Chris Evans as a police detective, Haley Atwell as a spunky investigative reporter, and Jason Momoa doing I don’t quite know what. Evans’ detective character was investigating a murder in Chinatown, and Atwell was doing the same thing, and she spent the vast majority of the dream trying to prove to Evans’ character that he was terribly racist and was truly making a muck of his investigation. They, of course, had their usual delicious chemistry. I still can’t figure out what Jason Momoa was doing there. I just remember him kind of sitting at a table looking bemused.

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It is a wonder that Chris Evans doesn’t just fall over when he laughs too hard.