(OK, I got your message, so here goes, Wirey...and I'd better get a frubal for this one.)
What comes to mind when I think of Wirey?
Never has there been such a dashing and awe inspiring man as Wirey. Surely the muses that inspired the great sculptors of old conspired together to bring perfection to mortal form. Ah, the chiseled face, the confident stance, all that could be Man, IS. Such is Wirey.
The flow of manly-style goldilock(s) is a sight to behold -- and to be treasured. Once the eyes have the pleasure of feasting upon his strong and capable form, all other men slip into a background of oblivion. Is there other than Wirey? I seem to recall...somewhere... back in the distance of time gone by, other men... but alas... I can no longer see other than Wirey.
Proceed with caution, ladies, for his captivating countenance may surely steal your heart away. 'Tis sad that surely such perfection was never meant to be captured. And men, take heart, for even though it may sting to look upon such manly perfection -- know this -- perfection exists. It's name: Wirey.