You got soul, you got class, you got style, you bad-ass

There's only one guy that title lyric can refer to, right? Nick Lachey, people. He's big (of body and nose) and he's got pouty lips and he's got that Cincy kid frat boy lunkhead thing going on-- a trifecta in my book. He entertains me. Oh, not with his singing or, errrr, acting, but just with the way that he is. Like when he puts out an AlbumO named thusly:ReallyO, NickO? NoO. Or when he's the lamest pimp evah for a cover of Details:The only rational explanation is that he was being managed by Joe Simpson at the time. Can't you just hear Joe whining to Nick that all his other clients let him French them? I never love Nick more than when a burly Italian man is nestled into his armpit. And licking.Seriously, do a Google Image search of Nick sometime. You'll laugh and laugh. I swear that's how I found that last picture. I do not and have never frequented www.pitlickingguidos.com Whew. Nick. He's a man's man. Meat's MEAT. All kidding aside, he's edible hot and you know it.Oh, and he labors tirelessly but still he gets no respect. Underdog status only makes me love you more, buddy. You hang in there, G. What's left of you. Did you hear? He's living in a rusted out van down by the river, the poor dear.