The winners were Charlize Theron, Scarlett Johanssen, Brooklyn Decker andJessica Biel. You can click on each of their names to view the results of an image search for each. I overcame my usual disdain for research in order for you to have access to the facts here. You're welcome.
Jessica Biel was awarded The Holy Grail of Hotness. Strangely enough, the three most recent cover girls of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue were also awarded the Holy Grail of Hotness, making at least four Girls of the Grail.
The Huffpo article which first drew my attention to the Hotness Awards is followed by 120 comments, most of which sneer at one of the winners at the expense of the others in the true manner of guys who, no matter what their physical qualities, fashion taste, or the months or years of sexual deprivation they have endured, feel entitled to make aesthetic judgments about women who are not going to favor them with anything more than a blank stare in the unlikely event they ever meet.
Partisans of women who were left off the Hotness list are crying foul here as well. To them I say, be at peace. Guys are still logging on to images of Jessica Alba and Kate Upton anyway and succumbing to the urge to slap the bishop when they do, despite both these legendary hotties falling short of the top rank on Spike.
The advantage of having an Internet argument about women is that you don't even have to pull up your pants before you can start enjoying it. However, it doesn't compare to a live argument in a sports bar or a living room full of empty beverage containers, where a disagreement about which supermodel who will spend her entire life ignoring you is hotter than the next can turn on a dime into an argument about which hockey team has enough Russians on it to be a champion.
Guys love to argue. Some are better at it than others, having mastered the three steps of winning any man-to-man argument: 1: Yell. 2: Bully. 3: Accuse your opponent of having a vagina. These men terrorize anyone with more nuanced opinions. Admire their skill. Know that they have spent hours yelling in the mirror. They consume nothing but beer and nachos, the preferred training diet for professional arguers.
Those of us who have given up arguing, which is most of us who actually have women, occasionally escape to a bar just to watch the pros in action. A good loudmouth can cow an entire tavern into agreeing that the Oakland Raiders are the finest football team in the land, or that Ginger is actually more desirable than Mary Ann, opinions that few American men really hold, although I for one agree with the Ginger premise. Then we retire home, to that cozy place where being wrong in any controversy means hours of ugly silence followed by abject apology followed by laundry-doing or closet-cleaning-outing or some other penitential chore.
And being right is even worse.