Come for the bean curd. Stay for the sexy bean curd man.

I'm hot enough to get away with the tank-top bib. (via Elite Daily)

It's dusk. You're on the streets of Taipei. A neon street sign flickers as you take a drag of your cigarette. A lone saxophone plays in the background. You catch a whiff of something oh-so-intoxicating nearby. You make your way through a maze of alleys, trying to pin down this succulent aroma. You're searching and searching. Where is it? You just can't take it anymore. Why can't I let go? It's driving you crazy. Your stroll turns into a sprint. Where is it, dammit?! You turn a corner and boom. There it is. A simple food shop. It could be any food shop in Taiwan. But it's not. Because he is there. He's stirring a big pot. His rock hard abs glint with sweat as he raises his ladle for a taste. You slowly approach him. You begin to speak. He slowly shushes you. Does he offer you grapes from the vine? No. How about strawberries, dipped in velvety chocolate? No. Just as you're on the verge of ecstasy, he grabs a to-go container and asks, "Would you like some bean curd?"

Sources: Shanghaiist | Elite Daily | Facebook