A figure draped in black smashes through a skylight. With catlike grace, he descends into the room below. He is vengeance made flesh; the walking personification of the night and every fear of what lurks in the darkness. After a perfect landing, he speaks:
In the unlikely event you find yourself in a soiree full of Hollywood celebs this New Year’s Eve, which A-lister would you start sidling up to around 11:58 in hopes of stealing a kiss when 2011 becomes 2012?
Turns out that–wait for it–a lot of women want to lay a tipsy smooch on the lips of George Clooney while men want to “make friends” under the mistletoe with Jennifer Aniston.