“I can’t explain to you what it’s like to be a heartthrob, [because] I don’t think I am a heartthrob. I hate [that word]. I hate it. It follows you around, but you don’t deserve it. It’s like, ‘Why?’ I’m just me. I’m just Zac. Just Zac.”
Oh, Zac. You say all the words you want, ok? If it makes you feel better, that’s fine. You’re not a heartthob, sweetie. You’re not. You’re just a beautiful man with a heart of gold and the voice of an angel, that’s all. You can drop panties and boxers with just a flip of your hair, and even your mom knows how much game you’re capable of kicking. But no, honey, you’re not a heartthrob. Not at all.
In completely unrelated news, I’m feeling some odd sort of pain in my chest after thinking so hard about Zac Efron. It feels really odd, do you know what it could be? The pain is on my left side, right where my heart is, and it feels almost like a kind of … ohhh.