Senor Shirtless

I feel like we all know that one guy (or girl?) who almost never seems to wear a shirt. And the times they do actually bother to cover up their abs of steel (or pudding if you are so unlucky) its basically the shirt equivalent to a thong--absolutely no point other than getting into a restaurant....though you could probably get away with no underwear in a restaurant but why wouldn't you wear underwear to a restaurant anyway? But thats beside the point. Its basically the saddest excuse for a shirt I've ever seen.
That guy lives directly across the hall from me.
Opens the door.
Removes thong shirt.
Flex and rub his happy trail.
And I can see all of this from the comfort of my little black ikea chair at my desk.
This may sound like a complaint but it is far from it.
Who WOULD complain about Senor Shirtless prancing about in nothing but a towel? I could honestly sit with a giant bowl of popcorn and watch the show all day.
But then comes the time when its like....okay, sir....you are currently in the process of ruining every other shirtless experience I may have in the future (although that future is likely in a galaxy far, far away because i just had the nerve to quote science fiction). But still! I'm becoming immune to rippling abdominal muscles. Now its like, okay, whatever, see it all the time, no big deal. But it should be a big deal! It needs to be more along the lines of "holy pectoralis major, batman!!!"
Maybe I will grant him with a gift of oversized, itchy, wooly christmas sweater....complete with jingle bells. Hot.
But then that would completely immunize me against men wearing christmas sweaters....and that may be worse. I cannot have that.