Monthly Archives: July 2009

Season Four, Episode Fifteen – ‘A Change Of A Dress’

Being forgetful isn’t one of the worst personality traits in the world, but it’s definitely annoying. Sure, we’ve all got loads going on in our brains – for me it’s a constant battle between malaise and euphoria, but when something important has happened in your life, it’s usually good to remember it. Like getting married perhaps, a small fact which Carrie forgets when someone asks her what’s going on in her life. I assume that her brain was clouded by all the major events occurring in her life. After all, there aren’t enough clothes sales in the world.

The engagement memory loss was just another clusterfuck in an ever increasing calamity of errors in Carrie and Aidan’s relationship. Carrie isn’t even wearing the wedding ring on her finger, instead wearing it around her neck. Like a necklace. A wedding ‘ring’ on a necklace. She might as well have bent Aidan over and spanked him right there and then in front of everybody because that’s about as much respect as she’s giving him. Might as well wear the veil between her saggy fucking tits.

An episode of regret and disappointment for all concerned really here. Samantha was irate as her rich boss and sometime fuck buddy wouldn’t commit to a relationship. I was half interested in what was happening until my companion watching the show observed that Samantha looked like a goat from a particular angle. It got me thinking as all classic observations tend to do – Sex And The City characters as animals. Obviously Carrie’s a horse, Charlotte’s a particularly twitchy Manx cat, and Miranda reminds me a lot of the most despicable and disgusting creature the world has ever seen – the humble woman.

Why do people moan all the time anyway? Miranda’s moaning because she can’t get enthusiastic at the thought of having a bouncing baby boy. How could anyone not feel a slight thrill at the back of the neck at the thought of a Steve Jr in the world? Clearly Miranda, and almost definitely Charlotte who tried to get rid of the anguish she was feeling after her break up with Trey, by tap-dancing. And Carrie, constantly whining and moaning about anything and everything. Moving in with Aidan, getting married to Aidan – everything just seems like a struggle to her. She’s the sort of person who would eat a delicious sandwich and then moan about black people, an utter disgrace.

Honestly though, this whole episode reeked of a one legged midget attempting to moonwalk. The embarrassment of it all, I was cringing at some aspects. When a Perez Hilton esque gossip columnist cunt character not being able to get their cock up isn’t the lowest point of the show, then you really have to wonder how these people sleep at night.

I’ve been reading about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs recently, which is basically a theory on the units that make people well adjusted. They go up in order, so the basic stuff like breathing and eating are at the bottom, key components that make us function. The big guns like morality and lack of prejudice are right at the top, suggesting that you can only reach self actualization when you have morals and don’t judge people. You won’t be surprised to learn that judging from this theory, pretty much all the characters of Sex And The City limp along on the bottom rung, which also includes ‘sex’, inferring that we need sex to make us psychologically happy. Whilst that might be true, it’s not the only thing that makes us happy, which is where the dickheads on this show go wrong.

Gloom, despair and sadness make up the entire basis for this episode, which at six in the morning isn’t the sort of frivolity I was aiming for. Everything just made me sick and desolate, emotions summed up when Carrie and Aidan essentially broke up right next to a waterfall. Whilst it’s slightly mature that Carrie told Aidan that she wasn’t ready for marriage, that’s down to her hideously child-like personality which is gonna take a lot more than a new shiny ring to change. If she’s not ready at her age, when will she be? And for whom? Carrie is one of those people who says ‘I love you’ to everyone and doesn’t really mean it. Just don’t say it at all if you don’t feel it.

Or if you feel it, do something about it. Maybe Charlotte should have dealt with the Trey problem earlier, maybe Miranda needs to solve her ginger baby problem immediately, maybe Carrie should have slit her wrists and be done with it. There is just no progress here, except ironically for the oldest of the bunch. Samantha was genuinely affected by her boss not wanting to make their ‘relationship’ into an actual relationship rather than a fuck buddy scenario. It was a depressing, but I had to ask myself, was she just growing up? Can a leopard really change its spots? Can a forty-five year old woman really stop sleeping around after a lifetime of opening and entering that would put an automatic door to shame? Can I stop asking questions? Can I?

I just feel down you know. When Carrie told Aidan – with a straight face that she knew he didn’t trust her, it was almost the end of the world for me. Watching her skanky fucking face lighting up like a light bulb was too much to bear. Where are the heroes in this battered and embittered world? Bring back Steve, bring back Gay Stanford for fucks sake I am human and I want to be loved just like everybody else does.

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Season Four, Episode Fourteen – ‘All That Glitters’

Men and women are different creatures, and should be treated as such. You wouldn’t cook a woman a piece of sensational meat to get her to go to the disco, and alternatively you wouldn’t wave a copy of ‘Elle’ magazine at a geezer to get them to do something… That’s a light-hearted dig at a good pal of mine who despite watching great telly programmes and almost having as many cultural references in their brain as yours truly, still poisons their mind with images of starkly thin women wearing what can only be described as ‘shit’. Still though, those of you with a penchant for the flamboyant – you’ll get what’s coming to you one day. I have no idea what I’m talking about, but damn does it sound threatening in my dulcet Essex tones.

The reason I mentioned the differences at all was because Carrie tried to get Aidan to go out to some sort of ‘gay’ club with her, only to be turned down for a bucket of KFC, a few bevvy’s and a sports based game on the television. You know when you meet someone, and everything they do impresses you? The way they dance, the way they hold a drink, the way they masturbate fully and freely despite their grandparents watching – that’s how I felt when Aidan described his night in, it was pure love. Ironically, were I a gay man it wouldn’t be the gay club I’d be interested in that particular evening, more ripping chicken off emaciated bones with a 6,5 furniture designer.

It’s not that I dislike gay people – from from it, I own several pink t-shirts and an annoying laugh, but I loathe gay people who use their sexuality as the crux for their entire personality. It’s no different to someone being known as ‘the drunk guy’, or ‘the friendly paedo’, if you tag yourself as having one particular personality point, then you’re not letting people see the real you, deep down. I suppose people can do what they want, hell I’d take a cock in the arse if it meant a free wardrobe change from Gay Anthony, but then it’s not who you know, it’s who you let anally penetrate you.

Carrie has a dilemma at the bar when she can’t get served, until a charming Gay Aussie helps her out. He recognised her from her column, of which he described as ‘my survival guide in New York City.’ That actually makes perfect sense – presumably he means that as a gay man, his reading of her disgusting lifestyle every week only goes to further prove the point that being gay is a very sensible move in a world full of disgusting women. Miranda also met someone at the gay club – a fella who works at her law firm who she was previously unaware of that he was gay. After he begged her not to tell the rest of their co-workers that he was gay, she informed him that she was up the Hilary Duff. Not the best move perhaps.

Samantha took ecstasy, which makes sense considering it’s basically ‘being a cunt’ in a handy pill form. True to form, whilst fucking Richard on the dastardly drug she informed him that she was in love with him. We’ve all done stupid things on drugs – I remember the time I tried to mount a zombie whilst bamboozled on fizzy jerks, which was also the last fancy dress party I ever went to. That memory wasn’t even the most disturbing one that flashed up in my frazzled mind whilst watching this episode, that occurred when Carrie tried to have sex with a half asleep comatose Aidan, which bought back very unhappy memories of watching some of the rape sequences in ‘Baise Moi’, arguably the second worst film ever made – after ‘Transformers’.

The word ‘gay’ must have been used about a million times in this show, and in this review – especially considering that the two gays – Gay Stanford and Gay Anthony were involved. There must have been a few quotas to fill in the show, as seen by Gay Stanford’s lime green suit which I assume counts as having someone with downs syndrome on the show. The girls even watched gay porn whilst having a good old gossip complete with munching on some doughnuts. I must say, all that gay porn and slagging people off sounds eerily similar to one of my wild nights in, only I prefer bread and humus to go with my teabagging.

Trey and Charlotte finally broke up. ‘The perfect couple’ no more. Although the relationship was a complete sham from the start, it’s still a little sad to see a stallion like Trey reduced to a bulbous wreck offering Charlotte the apartment to make up for his lack of manhood. His final epitaph was a good one though – helping Charlotte with a photograph. That’s what makes him a cut above other men I suppose, he cares. With Trey’s firm grip on the sentimentality of life, and Miranda’s office finding out that she was pregnant, all I needed was Carrie to feel wronged in some way and this episode would be complete…

And it almost happened. Carrie found out that you can’t have your cock and not suck it, as a night out with her Gay Aussie ended up with him ignoring her. Who can blame him? A chance conversation with a thirty-six year old female journalist might be mildly interesting once, but when the cock hits the arse it all ends up in pain. How many times can I reference cocks in this paragraph? Even that cock Gay Stanford turned up, annoyed that he wasn’t the only gay hero in Carrie’s life. It was so bizarre, a tug of cocks with no-one the winner – except me,I felt absolutely sensational, but that might just have something to do with ‘Dangerous Cocks 2009’ cock-pitting it’s way through my open letterbox this cocking morning.

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Season Four, Episode Thirteen – ‘The Real Me’

People are annoying sure, but then it’s hard to be cynical in this tortured world for fear of being called a moaner. It’s all gone topsy-turvy, no longer can you start a sentence with ‘I hate people who….’ because hey, chances are not everyone who listens to Paramore is a dickhead, and alternatively, perhaps in some far off galaxy populated by yellow squirrels and fifty-foot high chickens, there are people who like Sex And The City that aren’t grotesque individuals inside and out.

I mean, how could you watch this episode and decide to carry on watching? I could almost tick off the list of cuntish things people do in life purely by watching these twenty-seven minutes. The usual Sex And The City clich├ęs were apparent – the selfishness, the stupidity and the sadness, but this one just seemed to go on and on until it beat the viewer into a submission, and not the glorious type which leaves you handcuffed to the bannisters receiving oral pleasure from a black beauty.

No pleasure seems to be gained by anybody here, especially Carrie who is worrying about Aidan moving in because of the ‘secret things that women do’ when no-one is around. I understand her concern, for sure I wouldn’t want anyone to see me doing the things that I’m rather ashamed of. The scratching, the listening to reggae, the distributing anti-white skin propaganda, but then when you’re with the one person who truly makes you feel whole then it just doesn’t matter. Just a typical woman I suppose though, spend a lifetime moaning about being alone, and then as soon as a smouldering sexy brute enters your life you run to the hills screaming about invasion of privacy.

Charlotte’s ‘secret’ thing to do is to study her pores with a magnifying mirror, a habit of which she has the audacity to complain about NOT being able to do. What the fuck? Her and Trey are going through bare problems – not being able to have a child being the main one. Trey tried to make Charlotte feel better about the situation, by warmly and jokingly presenting her with a cut out cardboard baby, but for some perplexing reason she failed to see the funny side. I think the cardboard baby is my new number one peripheral character in this show, gently blowing out Gay Stanford to the number ‘two’ position – which, let’s be honest, he’s probably enjoy.

Samantha spends this episode continually fucking her boss Richard, who apparently has ‘the perfect dick’, unlike Miranda who is the perfect dick. Ever laugh uproariously to yourself because you’re so funny? Just me then. Samantha spends a lingering moment sucking Richard’s cock in his office, a moment which reminded me that I hadn’t seen so much white stuff flying around in the air since the great paper aeroplane battle of year ten, sometime in 2005.

“Is it okay to fuck one guy when you’re pregnant with another mans baby?” asked Miranda as she toyed with a blind date dilemma. I’ll be honest, I’ve not heard such an existential question since my ill-fated days of studying Philosophy, and the great man Sartre. Speaking of the blind date, Miranda really is morphing into Cilla Black, and it’s not just the hair that makes me say that. The wide open mouth which has shit emanating from it on a regular basis, the ill fitting skirts, and the combined sex appeal of a rapist tag team. Still would though.

Carrie’s woes are definitely the worst though. Worst in a ‘you’re a cunt’ sense though, not as in me displaying any sympathy for her whatsoever. An argument over the lack of space in her apartment with Aidan fully showed me that she’s far more interested in shoes than her relationship, and for that she’ll never find happiness unless she puts down the Geigers, and makes with the giggles. Saying that though, I’m probably as much of a shoe whore as she is – I’d sell my soul for a new pair of Forest Hill’s, just saying in case there are any generous and warm-hearted martinthecity fans reading this…

“What are we fighting for?” Carrie asked as her argument with Aidan went on for days. If she doesn’t even know having told Aidan to ‘shut up’ about fifty times then perhaps she should learn to channel her anger into something more important. It was weird though, every time she said ‘shut up’, my blood boiled, my brow furrowed, and my cock strangely stiffened like a feather in the wings of love. I still think Aidan is a good guy despite taking back Carrie back that time, and even the knowledge that he uses ‘Rogain’ can’t diminish my adoration for him. Yes, a ruffle able thatch is a pre-requisite for my hero worship of a man, but he ticks all my other boxes – masculinity, wood chopping ability, and a big cock.

Still though, considering Aidan and Carrie patched up their differences in the end, I feel that the end of this review should centre on Trey seeing as he seems to be slipping out of this show, like Michael Jackson’s cock inside somebody over fifteen. I’m gonna miss the guy – I’ve had a rocky relationship with Trey, and looking back over my past notes he’s not really covered in my full glory, but he still deserves some praise. The kilts, the impotency, and most importantly, ‘Bonnie’ his humorous, yet slightly evil mother. May she rest in peace, god bless her smoky Scottish soul.

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