Category Archives: 2nd Season

Season Two, Episode Eighteen – ‘Ex And The City’

And so, we’ve come to the end of season two, and what a season it has been. I’m joking of course, it’s been the most depressing eleven hours of television footage I’ve seen since I sat through the Nuremberg Trials on the History Channel two years ago. Whilst it may seem a touch over the top to compare the actions of the four main characters in this show, to some of the most heinous and disgusting war criminals of time – and of course I’m using Godwin’s Law here, but hand on heart – who wore the better clothes, the Nazis, or the girls in Sex And The City? Ignoring all the atrocities, those black uniforms were smart. Shame about all the killing.

As you might have guessed from the title of this episode, we are dealing with some pretty heavy stuff here – how to maintain a friendship with an ex after the relationship has ended. For once, I can’t see the sunshine behind the rain. Honestly, what’d be the point in keeping things friendly if the love has gone? Especially with Big and Carrie. She seems to barely like the man as a person – it’s not like they spent all their time together discussing Chomsky and Descartes – all they seemed to do was have sex, and then complain about it. Descartes might have memorably quipped that ‘I think therefore I am,’ but it seems like the main problem between Carrie and Big was the fact that there seemed to be no actual thinking involved – which as Descartes would rationalise, would mean that they were not really human at all.

Perhaps more cheering is the reintroduction of Steve into the show, even though Miranda sprints off like Ben Johnson on even more steroids when she first saw him on the cobbled streets. Undeterred and determined to rekindle the eternal flame that had been their initial relationship, he turned up at her apartment and Miranda soon realised that she had actually missed him all along. “Whenever I hear something funny I just want to tell you,” she lovingly told him, and not long after that he was cooling her down with his hosepipe.

Long bulky sticks was a common problem with Samantha here actually, after she met a man who was spectacularly well endowed. Being a woman of considerable sexual experience, she was confident she could take his full girth, but alas, even he was too beastly for her tunnel. Her uncomfortable feeling even reminded her of how much she liked her ex with the 3′ cock, such was the brute force of his ‘throbbing member.’ I appreciate that this currently reads like I’m trying to write a really low budget porno, but I can assure you that I’m not getting any pleasure out of this whatsoever.

Neither was Charlotte for much of this episode however, as she spent much of it trying to mount a horse. Sure, even that sounds like a particularly grim snuff film, but even I couldn’t make this sort of shit up. To be honest, I can’t really remember why she was having such difficulty in getting back on the saddle – even though I watched it a mere fourteen minutes ago, so let’s just stay on the safe side and say that it had something to do with paedophilia. The only redeeming feature of this scene was Carrie getting face to face with her doppelgänger, albeit a very brown doppelgänger with an especially waggly tail.

Carrie and Big though, wow what a heartbreak. After instigating a lunch with him in which she hoped would kick start a friendship, he dropped the absolute bombshell that he was planning on getting married to the tasty bit of crumpet he was seeing. To be fair to Sarah Jessica Parker, as much as I dislike the horse faced cocksucker, her acting was pretty good here, perfectly showing the heart breaking into a million pieces, the feeling of complete desperation, the panic, the searing emotion of rejection. To make matters worse, she fell over like a blue arse fly upon leaving the restaurant she was in. I was seconds away from wanting to deck the Big man, but his fantastic canary yellow polo shirt – very  much like an American Alan Partridge, which appeared in the episode a bit later on, stopped my anger. If only it was that easy for other emotions.

The trouble is… I still don’t care. At all. So what if two selfish idiots can’t realise that the only time they’re truly happy when they’re together? Who can I emphasise with here, where is my sympathy supposed to come from – and for who? The slut, the pretentious idiot, the dopey one or the absolutely clueless one? I don’t mind that much though, as I can keep ‘enjoyed an episode of Sex And The City’ on my list of ‘things I’ve never done,’ which currently includes: eating mushrooms, watching the TV show ‘Heroes,’ and being wrong.

I’ll save you from Carrie’s crap quasi-philosophical speech at the end where she tries to establish what’s gone on, because I’ve recently heard a song that sums up exactly what she’s going through, in much fewer words.

“I won’t tell you that I love you
Kiss or hug you
Cause I’m bluffin’ with my muffin
I’m not lying I’m just stunnin’ with my love-glue-gunning
Just like a chick in the casino
Take your bank before I pay you out
I promise this, promise this
Check this hand cause I’m marvelous”


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Season Two, Episode Seventeen – ‘Twenty-Something Girls, Vs Thirty-Something Women

Despite being heterosexual, I must have watched The Brady Bunch film at least four times, so imagine my delight when the opening of this episode was a lovely little spoof of the opening Brady montage. Sadly though, the warm smile enveloping my lips soon turned into a sad sad scowl as the four ladies of the apocalypse rode onto the screen and moaned and moaned and moaned and moaned and moaned and moaned.

This moaning was centred on girls in their twenties – specifically how silly they were, which I’m sure had nothing to do with all four of the main characters quickly sliding into middle age, complete with crows feet, and bird hands. I’ve got nothing against twenty-something women, except of course, my cock. Far prefer them to bitter women in their thirties who are slowly realising that life isn’t going the way they wanted.

Apparently ‘Twitter’ is popular with young people now, and I can only imagine the pointless, ridiculous updates that the people in this show would have come out with had it been around in their day

Carrie – ‘just riting a column about sex lol! feel a bit sad atm but will hopefully cheer up soon wen the girlies get here!’

– 5 minutes ago from web

Samantha – ‘orgasms are amazing! already had six men in the shower today and looking forward to getting a little bit tonight if you know what I mean? I mean fucking LOL!’

– 30 mins from TwitterBerry

Miranda – ‘just dyed my hair :(‘

– 2 hours ago from web

Charlotte – ‘testing this out…. what’s twitter?’

– 3 years ago from web

Anyway, in this episode everyone went to the Hamptons, which is a very desirable area for all the beautiful people to go to in America. Think Liverpool, but without the thieves. So just think of somewhere else. All I know about the Hamptons is the Seinfeld episode based on it, and this lovely little scene. Carrie meets two interesting people in this episode – a doctor who takes a shine to her, and a young lady who ‘worships’ her, and who reads her column every single time. She meets the doctor at a book party, which sounds like actual hell. I hate any themed parties – fancy dress, bring a bottle, fuck a child – they all make me very embarrassed that I belong to the same species as idiots who enjoy these. ‘Oooh look at me dressed like Superman!’ Batties.

Someone actually asks ‘do you think 25 is too young to write a memoir?’ Maybe not if you’re Alexander The Great and you’ve actually done something with your life, but when you’re an idiot who works as a receptionist, I’d rather not read the crap you write. What have these people got to write about? ‘Page 36 – ‘How I got fingered for the first time aged twelve in a park.’

The trouble with this episode, is that nothing really happens. Charlotte catches crabs off a man which is interesting. I’m sure Carrie was relieved that the fishy smell emanating  from just below her solar plexus was blamed on the crabs, rather than something else. She also wears a cowboy hat in this – just when you think things can’t get any worse. Samantha waltzes around drinking cosmopolitans, though why anyone would drink a woman’s magazine I don’t know. Miranda just sits in the sun moaning as her pale skin burns in the hot summer sun, and I get more and more sick staring at these horrible excuses for human beings.

However, the episode is saved at the last. Carrie bumps into every bodies old favourite – Mr Big. Only he’s not alone – he’s bought along a lovely lady he met in Paris, and she’s 26 and works for Ralph Lauren. The gulp Carrie made had me curious for two reasons – one, was that really an Adam’s apple hiding in her throat, and two – even me, a long time hater of her couldn’t help but feel sorry for her in that situation. But then, has she any excuse? She’s ploughed at least two other people during their time apart, so how can she feel like she’s the wounded party is anyone’s guess.

Still though, her fleeting meeting with Big was proof that no matter how much you think you might be over somebody, the chances are, deep down, you really aren’t. But then, does it matter? There is always someone new, and mostly they’re always better. Or perhaps I just got lucky.

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Season Two, Episode Sixteen – ‘Was It Good For You?’

The thing about being a hypocrite, is that there is nothing wrong with being one, as long as you’re aware that you are one. So when Carrie asks the question “is it that bad to not be good in bed?” after Charlotte had complained that the man she had been having sex with fell asleep whilst they were getting intimate, it was hard for me not to get all Travis Bickle and shoot the television set off. How on earth could anybody – fictional or otherwise, not realise the stupidity of that comment? It’s not that the actual sentence is that bad – for sure it’s not the end of the world, but for some stupid slag who spends her entire time moaning about sex, it’s a little hard to swallow.

Samantha meets two guys who have no problem with swallowing however, when a gay couple she knows ask her if she would be interested in joining them for a little Ménage à trois. Gay Stanford was unavailable for comment, but I – and a million others could only imagine his arse cheeks clenching at the thought of being pressed towards two fine gay specimens. There was trouble in paradise for her though, as when the gay lads got down to her ivory tower they couldn’t investigate further. Understandable really – I imagine she’s been entered more time than the Suez Canal – and her innards are twice as wide.

Problems also for the rest of the gang. Carrie meets an alcoholic after his cigarette accidently brushed against her when he flicked it away into the cold New York wind. Perhaps it was karma’s way of saying that she should substitute the constant cigarettes in her filthy fucking mouth, for something a lot more wholesome. Alcoholics are my favourite type of addict I think – at least they always bring the party. Well, except for when they’re not moping around selling their failing bodies for a quart of Gordon’s Gin.

All Miranda did in this episode was change her sweaty sheets in the hope that a clean bedroom would mean a clean mind or something. Surely it’s gonna take a lot more than pristine bedding to make someone want to putt her with their nine iron? I don’t really understand this episode to be honest. It might be that I’ve watched 27 episodes of this garbage now, but when all these girls have done is moan about sex all the time, it gets extremely annoying when they try and pretend that they’re above it. Morons.

Think of morons, and you do inevitably think of Carrie – and she excels herself in greed and emotional damage at the end of the episode. When you consider that this particular show featured an extended scene investigating tantric sex, which included a middle aged man lying comatose on the floor whilst a middle aged woman stroked him to orgasm – that’s some feat. I mean, sure – it must be annoying when an ex alcoholic devotes all his time to you instead of hitting the drink, but that’s complimentary more than anything. Certainly it’s no excuse to drop him when you get bored with him, thus making him go back to the dreaded drink – which is exactly what Carrie did.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of this episode was the pink satin trousers that Carrie was sporting at one point. I respect the fact that this was made ten years ago, and that fashion changes blah blah – but come on people. Think of the amazing clobber around in the sixties – the suits, the trousers, or the glam apparel in the seventies, or the flares of the 80’s. I’m no fashion expert at all, but is there anything that was fashionable in the 90’s which is still popular now? You look back at music videos and that – and it’s all really boring, baggy boring stuff. Bit of a tangent there, but pink satin for fucks sake!

Was it good for me? About as good as the ‘my dog’s got no nose!’ joke – it smells terribly, just like this awful excuse of a programme. If I wasn’t doing this to try and impress a girl who makes fucking jumpsuits, I’d probably have killed myself by now.

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Season Two, Episode Fifteen – ‘Shortcomings’

It’s not often that television programmes influence me directly in life, but seeing Miranda sweating in the gym reminded me that I had some old gone off oranges in my cupboard which I proceeded to throw into the bin, so I thank the scriptwriters of this particular episode for that. After the sweating, Miranda meets up a divorced man with his kid in the lift, and they decided to go on a date, despite the annoying little child being a nuisance. Small children are extremely annoying though, and they almost make me pine for a world of Michael Jacksons. Who wouldn’t like to see them beat it? Preferably by a smooth criminal...

Carrie is seeing someone who writes short stories. Now, people who write short stories are usually idiots, because they haven’t got the talent to write anything of substance. I read a Sylvia Plaith short story about Superman once. Let’s just say I could see why the oven was so inviting for her. Carrie got introduced to this so called ‘writers’ family, and she immediately loved them. Two of the sisters were called Franny and Zooey, which I can only assume is after the J.D Salinger story. He would be rolling in his grave at being referenced in such a mindless show as this, had the daft nutter not gone into exile thirty years ago. Still though, a paragraph referencing Plaith and Salinger – this is turning intellectual.

Charlotte’s brother is in this episode, the first time any of the big four have had any family references in the show. Perhaps they have all disowned the four – not wishing to be associated with such vacuous, empty headed idiots. All goes well, until he sleeps with Samantha, leading to Charlotte calling her a slut in much more colourful language than that. However, after hearing that her brother hadn’t been laid in years due to falling out with his wife, Charlotte relaxes her opinion on Samantha and forgives her for leading her brother up the wizard of Oz.

Meanwhile, Miranda is finding life hard with the divorced guy and his annoying child. I can only imagine Miranda’s parenting skills would make Kate and Gerry McCann seem as generous and protecting as Oskar Schindler, which would explain why she is so uneasy around the little lad – who seems to dislike her. I can’t blame him, when I was little I was scared of red headed freaks who wore far too much make up and did stupid little tricks – and can you really tell me you don’t see a bit of Coco The Clown in Miranda?

Carrie’s ‘writer’ experienced difficulties with premature ejaculation, which sounds awfully like a metal band I had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing live in London last week. Fucking Carrie must be like going on a charity trip to Africa. At first you think that you can withstand the heat, the pressure, the destruction – even the insects crawling about where the sun don’t shine – but it soon becomes too unbearable, and you usually end up with AIDS. She put up with it for a bit because as mentioned before – she was taken with his family, who all seemed a bit too hipsterish for me. They certainly wouldn’t make my top five famous families – The Jacksons, The Addams, The Lighthouse, The Mansons, and the Swiss Family Robinson.

As she tried to talk to him about his problem, he asked – “why does everything have to be about sex?” which when you think about it, is a question that probably defines and sums up the complete pointlessness of this entire show.


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Season Two, Episode Fourteen – ‘The Fuck Buddy’

The goofy cunt that is ‘Skipper’ makes his first appearance of the series, and is fitting in really well by moaning about his love life. He keeps getting rejected by women because he always picks the same type – career minded selfish idiots. They all give him the same old crap excuses, ‘it’s not you it’s me!, ‘I really want to focus on my career,’ etc etc. Do all women go for arseholes? I for one sincerely hope so.

As for the ‘fuck buddies’ referred to in the titles, Carrie is wondering whether her particular ‘buddy’ would be alright in a relationship, rather than just inviting him round whenever her loins get inflamed with desire. She wants to make a change from constantly dating the same person all over again – which is a load of bollocks. The problem with the characters in this show, and perhaps women in general is that they think too hard about what to like about someone, rather than just liking it. I mean, yeah it’s important to go out with a person with fantastic hair, but don’t make that be the only basis for being with anyone.

Miranda is going out with a very angry New York based lawyer, and sadly for everyone, it ain’t the heroic, the amazing, and the brilliant Mike Strutter. Whoever this guy is though, he’s an odious, boorish angry cunt and he actually made me recoil with horror. Anger at times can be a beautiful thing, and so can wisecracking, but it can get really really tedious when somebody is like that all the time. As well as being pigheaded, he also tells Miranda what to do all the time, which she isn’t a massive fan of – except when they’re in the bedroom. Further proof that the only morals that females have are between their legs.

Samantha spent her nights listening to the couple next door having sex. I can relate – when I first moved to London the only thing I seemed to hear every day was the Korean who lives next door to me having sex with her boyfriend. Until last night that was the only anecdote I had of her, considering I’ve seen her about five times in seven months, but then something truly heartbreaking happened. No, scrap that – it was martbreaking.

I had a bottle of Lilt in the fridge, that had been chilling all day and that I was looking forward to supping at a time that suited me. So I get into my flat at about 4am, head to the fridge to have a cool refreshing beverage – when I reach for the lilt. I notice that a small ‘swig’ sized amount was gone. I opened it – no fizz. No satisfying ‘crack’ of a cool bottle of fizzy pop being opened. It was as flat as a urine soaked pretzel. I still don’t know what to do.

Nor did Samantha really, who sauntered over to the happy couples flat to join in after they invited her to ‘join in’ as they had heard her ‘enjoying’ herself whilst they were making love on Wednesday, and on Thursday, Friday and Saturday – they chilled on Sunday. As it usually is though, the couple were old, saggy and disgusting, and so Samantha politely refused.

Charlotte wasn’t refusing anything though, as she had finally plucked up the courage to ask men out on dates. Never understood the female mentality of not asking men out – what have they got to lose? Sure there’s the romance factor of being asked out by someone brilliant, but why waste time? All goes well for Charlotte, until she has two dates in one night – and as is usual on telly shows, the two people she was out with find out they had been ‘double booked’ and tell her to fuck off. Cheerful as usual.

Carrie and her ‘buddy’ go out to have some sushi and it’s pretty awkward. I know exactly how they feel – I’ve only had Sushi once, and that was to impress some girl I fancied when I was younger. I was utterly clueless with what to order, so I had some sushi and a can of cold green tea. Legit the worst meal I’ve ever had in my life. The sushi doesn’t go down well with either of them, and they both agree that a relationship isn’t gonna work between the two of them. Fair enough that they didn’t string this out like a particularly nasty Stretch Armstrong, as that would have been a complete waste of my time.

One final point about the show so far as a whole – the banter, and conversation between people is utterly shit. All the characters do is talk about themselves – never about anything exciting, or intelligent, or even amusing. What a depressing life it must be to never be able to have a fantastic fun filled conversation with someone.

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Season Two, Episode Thirteen – ‘Games People Play’

I’m half watching ‘Annie’ at the moment, so this might be a slightly rubbish review – but then it’s a hard knock life. Fresh out of her relationship with Big, Carrie proceeds to bore all her friends by talking about him all the time, and giving the ‘I don’t need him, he needs me!’ bullshit speech, until the rest of her gang tell her that maybe going to see a shrink would be a good idea. I’ve always been a touch wary and cynical of the whole paying someone to tell you what you probably already know – as is Carrie it turns out, but that might just be because I hate people who studies psychology. It’s business studies for girls who don’t want to be hairdressers but still want to go to university.

So, whilst I firmly belong to the philosophy of ‘make a cup of tea and put a record on,’ to solve many of life’s problems, Carrie decides to go and visit a psychologist. She is told that essentially she is picking the wrong men. Of course, like anybody who is told something about themselves that they don’t like, Carrie gets annoyed and decides that none of her difficulties are her own fault. Who said ignorance wasn’t a turn on?

The thorny subject of game playing in relationships is also touched on during this episode. As a fairly basic man, no-one will be surprised that I’m against the idea of playing emotional games if you’re with someone. Sure bring out the Jenga, the Connect Four, the beginners guide to sex – I’ve got no problem with that whatsoever, but is there any need to play stupid mind games? Instead of saying one thing and meaning the other, or making little tests for the other person, why can’t people just live peacefully and talk about things sensible and in an adult way?

Some bellend had a go at me the other day, cos I asked her why she would stay with someone she kept having arguments with. Apparently I didn’t know what I was talking about, in which case I’d rather not know, than live like that. If you’re reading this – you’re a cunt.

Charlotte free episode this one, instead Miranda and Samantha got their own little plot lines. Miranda was getting involved with a little bit of window flirting with her neighbour, only it turns out when he was looking out of his window flirting, it wasn’t with her, only rather it was with another man who lived downstairs. Poor Miranda’s face ended up as red as her hair. As for Samantha, she was getting involved with someone who was really into sports. As someone who is trying to dedicate my whole life to working within that field I could relate to him. I mean, yeah I’ve got that lovely little fantasy of watching sport with a lady, gamely trying to explain what was happening as they cheekily tried to distract me. Sigh. As for Samantha and this man, it didn’t really work out for them, gutting.

Therapy did work out for Carrie in an odd way though, as she ended up seeing a man she met there, who was played – pretty well really, by Jon Bon Jovi. Instead of livin’ on a prayer, the two had a little fun, but alas it wasn’t met to be for always. Perhaps this was down to the particularly disgusting yellow shorts she was wearing – or her horrible personality, you can’t discount that. To be fair to her though, she does realise that the shrink was right all along, when after enjoying a lovely day with Mr Bon Jovi, she got this answer when she asked him why he was in therapy. “I’m fucked up with women,” he said. “After I sleep with women I lose interest in them,” he added – which wasn’t the most sensible thing to say after fucking her. Perhaps it was too slippery when wet?

And so, Carrie realises that she’s an idiot and should choose better men, only realises that she can’t go back to the shrink, in case she runs into Bon Jovi again. A very similar thing happened to me at the supermarket today – got all my goods to the checkout, all scanned all bagged all ready to go, until my card wouldn’t work in the reader. Ashamed and embarrassed, I promised I’d go and withdraw the money from a machine nearby, but instead I walked, head down to Sainsbury’s and shopped there instead. No more cheap aubergines and ginger for me.

All in all, a pretty boring episode to be fair – I was far more interested by realising that I could whistle by blowing the top of my pen lid to really take much in at all. Although Annie mentioned just now that the sun will come out tomorrow. Maybe there is a little ray of sunshine in all of us, or that could be just the drugs and arrogance talking.

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Season Two, Episode Twelve – ‘La Douleur Exquise!’

Apparently this episode is all about bizarre sexual practises and general oddness, which makes sense when you consider how many people want to put their swords in the stones of four usually unpleasant women in their mid thirties. A party celebrating the opening of a restaurant with an S + M theme is the opening gambit to this episode, and it’s no surprise to see Gay Stanford mincing his way through the building looking like a paedo in a pre school.

The ‘big’ thing here though, is that Big might be moving to Paris for a business trip, and this makes Carrie very disappointed. She gets extremely angry that he doesn’t seem to be considering her  in his decision making process. She claims that women think about ‘we.’ whereas men think about ‘I.’ I have to disagree with that – think of the things that females mostly care about; hair, shoes, clothes, alcohol – I can’t see how any of those benefit anybody other than the woman. When do you ever hear about a girl doing something really spontaneous and lovely – even if it’s just being generally supportive. Of course there are exceptions to that, and that’s why it hurts so much when they’re not around any more.

“How do you know when enough is enough?” asks Carrie in response to the despair she is feeling. Surely the simple answer would be whenever you don’t want to be with the person you’re with any more? I appreciate that sometimes you want to be with someone so much that it’s absolutely torturous to think of not being with them, but if being with them doesn’t make up for the fact that you feel crap all the time, then maybe it’s time to just let it go.

We find out about the other various fetishes that the other characters are experiencing. Charlotte meets someone with a foot fetish in a shoe shop who offers her free shoes if he can attend to her feet. I was more concerned at the idea of her spending 200 notes on a pair of shoes that’ll no doubt be only worn once or twice. She could save Africa for that amount! We also found out that Gay Stanford liked cyber sex, chatting to his beauties on the internet, and he eventually ‘plucked’ up the courage to meet up with a fellow cock connoisseur in an illicit gay club. Samantha was mysteriously absent in this episode, apart from the first few minutes.

And Miranda! Dear, dear Miranda. I experienced a very horrible moment watching this episode, because she ended up going out with the guy who plays Gob Bluth in Arrested Development, who has to be one of the greatest characters of all time. Watching her and him get together was pretty traumatic, and I suddenly realised how lads who have two birds on the go must feel when the two girls paths collide. The panic in my eyes was incredible, as I willed him not to go through with it – but he did. His particular fetish was having sex outside, with the risk of being caught a particular turn on. All went well, until finally she got him to have sex ‘normally’ in a bed, until she realised that his parents were staying over, and he got extremely excited as they came into his room wondering what all the noise was about. It was all about too Fred n Rose West for me.

If I was disgusted at myself for watching that, worse was to come. I actually found Carrie slightly attractive when she turned up at Big’s, but to be fair – she was wearing a beret, and I have got a slight weakness for girls in hats, but ONLY outdoors. Any cunt who wears hats inside deserves to be culled – I was once in university during a lesson, and three girls in front of me were all wearing exactly the same black hat – but then that’s all I deserve for attending a witchcraft and wizardry course.

“I think about you all the time!” Carrie exclaimed to Big. So what? When you really like someone, all you can do is think about them all the time – that goes without saying surely? That feeling when it suddenly clicks that you can’t stop thinking about someone, and that they might just be the person you genuinely want is such a mystical feeling. Half of you is jumping for joy thinking “yes! Someone to like!, whereas the other half is paralysed by fear, desperately searching for clues of what to do next. What does happen next, is that they sleep together, and then Carrie realises that her and Big might not work out for the best, as he tells her that he might be going to Paris for a whole year, rather than the brief trip she thought it would be.

Although it’s sad that they seem to have broken up, I have far more pressing issues to concern myself with. Brothers and sisters, please, please, PLEASE free Nelson Mandela.

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