If you know anything about your pal Plummy you know I love three things: Fashion, football and shirtless men I don’t have to talk to.*

Lucky for me, these three worthy pursuits have come together to form the sort of tripartite hotness spectacular that usually can be created only in laboratory conditions using highly theoretical mathematics, super computers and flecks of Jose Mourinho’s man-tan.

That’s right, I’m talking about the Spanish National Team’s new kit, which debuts today and was preceded by what I feel comfortable in calling the single greatest contribution to the visual arts since Michelangelo decided that popcorn finish looked a bit slapdash.

Hat tip to the gentlemen and scholars of The Beautiful Gear.

For those of you who just got off the boat from Mars, Spain won the World Cup back in July against the Filthy Filthy Dutch. You may recall Spain Captain Iker Casillas as star of the previous Monday Hotness and the one off Monday Adorableness some months back (for those of you who don’t know why I hate the Filthy Filthy Dutch or how I dated my first professional footballer this is essential reading) or how I wanted to rub a pat of butter on referee Howard Webb’s head for my birthday.

If you’ve never seen him in action, look at this clip that just about makes me want to DIE:
Basically this weekend Real Madrid had a game against another Spanish club and the managers don’t like each other very much –the manager for Real Madrid being Jose Mourinho aka “The Special One” who is like the Karl Lagerfeld of football and a very divisive character– so there was much hissing and booing and Throwing of Things, including a balled up piece of newspaper.

Because that’s a good idea.

SURELY someone who CATCHES THINGS FOR A LIVING, and in fact does what he does better than ANYONE ELSE ON THE PLANET AS RECENTLY PROVED IN THE BIGGEST SPORTING EVENT IN THE WORLD would never, you know, CATCH THE NEWSPAPER.

GOD competence is so sexy.

SO in honor of Spain’s new jerseys and the dedicated return of the Monday Hotness I will give you the ENTIRE 2010 Spanish National Team over the next two weeks:
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It’s been a while since we’ve had a good old-fashioned Monday Hotness and I thought I’d go for a pretty boy this time.

When Jude Law first came to my attention, he was the gorgeous golden cad in The Talented Mr Ripley, I remember going “WHO is THAT?”  People like that don’t exist outside Evelyn Waugh novels. Historically I’ve never been a sucker for a pretty face, but this is a PRETTY FACE. Also? He’s secretly in love with me. True story. *

“Gwynnie lamb, I don’t want to be a pest but I think you’re stabbing me with your elbow. I said you’re a very nice girl, but I can’t be with a woman who thinks eating lawn is a good idea. Lawn is not food. Lawn is what food eats. I need a real woman. A woman with several deviled egg plates and more than one type of bacon in her refrigerator at any given time.”

“Oh Miss Plumcake,  come to me. I need the sweet healing love of a fat Episcopalian girl who might be the only natural born American who can brew a decent cup of tea. We will lie in bed listening to the Crab Canon and playing chess while I  nibble your ankle.”

“What my darling? No Bach? Even though the calendar very clearly indicates Bachtober started several days ago? Suit yourself, but I shall grab my lip and be abashed. Shall I take off my pants?”

“I know my sweet, I too am sometimes perplexed as to how my lips can be so perfect. I see you are confused. Perhaps you would like to caress my chin dimple and discuss whether I might possibly be wearing too much blusher.”

“Do you admire my shirt studs? Stephen Fry put them on with his teeth. He said that was the traditional way. Was he mistaken? Never mind. Don’t you think this inexplicably salmon waistcoat would look better crumpled elegantly on your bedroom floor, or perhaps the local public tennis courts after posted hours? So do I, darling. Let us off.”

*In my head

Hey gang, I’ve received startlingly few submissions for the DIY Monday Hotness which starts NEXT WEEK. I got a whole MESS of ‘em last year so I know you’ve got the hotness out there. Spread it around!

Remember the rules:

He must be over 18
The image must be at least 450 pixels wide
He needs to be the only person in the photo
He must agree to having his picture up here
He must have his Martha and BOTH the Vandellas covered up.

We take the broad view of hotness, so any size, shape, color, age or orientation is aces. If you think he brings the hotness, we want to see.

And, as usual, Miss Plumcake will be showcasing some of her favorite personal hotnesses. Stay tuned!

Oh you guys, can we just stop for a second and give some love to World Cup champ, Spain keeper extraordinaire, Iker Casillas who might be THE most adorable thing on the planet right now? I can’t even really give him the hotness because every fiber of my being is going “awwww” and with the crying when Andres Iniesta scored that goal (and if you think I will not BAN YOU FOREVER for even THINKING it was offside, you’ve got another think coming. That was a beautiful goal.) I mean come ON. How can you not love him? I want to take him home and make him some tapas. And not in the dirty way.

In fact, he’s so adorable I’m not even going to address the ad copy which –let’s face it– need addressing and I’ve got a whole slew of responses, some of which don’t even involve Kappa Gamma jokes.

Am I right? Don’t you just want to bake him a pie?

And the Dutch? I am so disappointed in them. They played ugly, dirty ball and they should be ashamed of themselves. We all know I have Uncharitable Thoughts re: the land of clogs, but I really thought better of them than that.

My disdain for all things orange stems from a 1997/98 incident wherein a young and innocent Miss Plumcake had her virgin heart dropkicked against the treehouse wall for the first time by a young man from Den Haag which resulted in about six months of crying, a rebound relationship with a midfielder for K.V. Mechelen (who has the sad honor of being the only fella I’ve ever really Done Wrong) and a deep and glorious grudge against the Dutch, which I maintain just out of a sense of honor for my 18 year-old self.

So that’s it. That’s all (well, almost all) the World Cup you’ll have to deal with here at your big girl blog. It’s been a fun ride, let’s hit the showers.

I’m taking the day off my little spiked watermelons, so please to enjoy Miss Wladziu Valentino Liberace courtesy of my internet neighbor, Château Thombeau.

Hey gang!

I’m setting off on a long weekend of Not Being Here and Ignoring You, but before I do let’s have an ADMIN PARTY! WHOOOO!!!

Email Woes:

My email? Kaput. Which means if you’ve sent me anything in the past month or so, it’s gonesville, which INCLUDES you wonderful Stevie The Blind Flood Puppy people, many of whom still need thank-you notes from me. So if you supported our beloved mascot and have not yet received a card (I’m getting out one or two a week, so it’s slow going) go ahead and resend your address with Stevie in the subject line.

Your Guy Monday Hotness:

It’s that time again! Last August we had a whole scorching month of homegrown hotness and I’m putting out the call early this year so I can have more time to wade through the deliciousness. The rules of submission are the following:

He must be 18 or older Mama loves a man in uniform, but not when they’ve got a warrant.

All photos must be clothed. Shirtless is fine but I don’t want or need to see any nooks and crannies, thankyouverymuch.

You must have permission to use his photo. I don’t want some angry hot dude chasing me. Well, I do, but not because he’s angry his photo’s on this site.

All photos must be at least 450 pixels wide but don’t send me enormous uncompressed TIFFs. I don’t care how hot he is, I don’t want to see the texture of his nosehair.

You must tell me in fewer than 120 words why he should be a Monday Hotness. Byron’s 173rd Sonnet only used 119, and we still remember how she walks in beauty like the night.

Other than that, have at it. We take the broad view of hotness, so submit your brother, your grandfather’s old Navy photo, your two gay besties. Anything goes!

Reader Questions:

I try, really I do, to answer most of the reader email I get. But I’m only one gal, and most isn’t all. If you’ve got a quick question it is almost always better to ask me in the comments on Mondays than it is to email me. If it’s something more complex, like a specific outfit recommendation then feel free to email me. I can’t promise an answer (not to put too fine a point on it, but I actually CHARGE for that service, so, uh I’m not super anxious to do pro bono work)

Reader Comments:

I don’t know WHAT is up with the comments recently, if it’s our spam filter going all doolally or what, but good comments are getting eaten. I do my best to rescue the ones I can, but some slip through the cracks. So, uh, sorry about that. What I’m NOT sorry about is deleting comments I deem “not good for the blog.” I let almost everything slide, so when I do delete something that’s the final decision, no room for appeal, which means don’t email me asking why I deleted your comment. Odds are it just got eaten anyway.

Dear Jerome Kaino,

We get it, you’re hot. Also you’re like, Crazy Tall, and for some reason I thought most Samoan men tended to be on the shortish side. Also also, I’m sort of disappointed you’re not covered in caramel and coconut a la the Samoas I sold in Girl Scouts:

…yet.

Anyway, I’m featuring you and some of your other New Zealand All Blacks pals for Eilish who made a special request for her birthday (which was like two weeks ago, uh, whoops).  That being said, I feel I have to tell you: Your tattoos are causing me some very Mixed Feelings.

(this is NOT what MY aquarobics class looks like)

Feeling A: I hate tribal tattoos, because Those Guys always have them, and you know how I feel about Those Guys.

Feeling B: Yet you are Samoan and the pe’a is legitimately one of your traditions so it’s not really your fault every popped-collar spray gel enthusiast from here to Timbuktu has gotten stupid tribal tattoos (confidential to Those Guys: dude, you’re a Methodist from Lubbock, if you want to get a ritually significant tattoo why not go for a portrait of a lime congeal from Luby’s?) and it probably makes you madder than it does me. Also, nipple star notwithstanding, it’s kinda hot.

Feeling C: Just because it’s ethnically legit doesn’t PRECLUDE you from being one of Those Guys, also, you have YOUR OWN NAME tattooed on your arm, which makes me think either you’re one of Those Guys, in which case I have to hate you, or you drink a lot and black out (fair enough, although maybe a business card tucked in your bra might be more discreet) OR you’re like that guy who was in Priscilla Queen of The Desert who had that memory thing and ended up shooting that guy who looked like a woodchuck. Because I’ve seen that movie and this doesn’t really end well for you.

In conclusion: You should probably come over to my house and lift heavy stuff while I watch. No need to bring pants.

Moving on to some of your other team mates:

(more hotness after the jump!)
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