Category Archives: 4th Season

Season Four, Episode Eighteen – ‘I Heart NY’

There’s an old American Civil War folk song called ‘Goober Peas’ which was about a soldier named ‘Goober’, a heroic Southerner who found boiled peanuts or ‘peas’ in the ground which were edible, and so became the life-force of thousands of starving men. The song is a classic, jaunty number which always makes me smile at the idea of the comradeship and the positivity of life in the most terrible of situations. I think about the song quite a lot when watching this show to try and make my life a bit more bearable.

It’s a shame that the War didn’t destroy New York, as that’s what this episode was centred on, with Carrie musing at the start of Autumn. I like Autumn, it’s my second favourite season after the joy of Winter. The crackle of boot upon leaf, the conkers falling delicately from the snapped branches, the wind, the rain, the joyous emotions. Autumn also seems to be about getting into touch with old flames, like Carrie who called Big when she was feeling lonely. Big said he never felt lonely, and Carrie asked if she could come over. I smiled at that, a reminder of the pleasure of going to see the person who makes you feel wonderful.

Bad news for Carrie though, as Big revealed he was moving to California, opening a vineyard. Carrie’s distraught, upset face surprised me – she’s always loved a good whine. Big said that he was tired of New York, and Carrie being the gluttonous creature that she is was somehow shocked at that. I mean, how could anyone get sick of the crowds, the smell and the sluts?

To make things better, Big started playing one of his old love records that his parents used to put on when he was a little lad. I wonder if he was nicknamed ‘small’ as a youngster. I must say, looking at him fondle that old ’45 like a particularly slender cock stirred my loins a little. The song was ‘Moon River’, a moist, enchanting ballad from the opening of ‘Breakfast At Tiffany’s’ which sweeps like a Dickensian cleaner clicking their heels around ye olde London. The images in my head from that one song were delightful – the cold snap and the hustle and bustle of the Big Smoke, hand in hand with the girl you love. A gentle kiss, a tug on a cigarette and that disgusting feeling that all the blissful memories are in your head only.

Samantha was going insane within her own head, as she struggled to come to terms with her love for Richard, and also her relationship with him. She gave him a rather disgusting ‘heart’ clock to symbolise her love for him – which is classic woman. Substituting emotions for toys and trinkets. Her paranoia was getting brutal, with a pleading “if you want out of this just say it!” request to Richard. It’s not easy loving someone for the first time, whether you’re forty-five or nineteen. There is still the same self doubt, the same wrecked nerves – everything you want has finally happened and you’re just not sure what to do about it.

Samantha decided to stalk Richard, which ended disastrously when she caught him eating out some slag. At least it was al fresco, and at least it wasn’t as bad as Charlotte’s date with a guy she met in an art gallery, whom she had only said yes to because she had spied ex husband Trey and his wonderful mum which reminded her of her own misery. The date was a bloody disaster – who wants to talk about love on the first date? You want to talk about favourites, be it films, fizzy drinks of sexual positions. In the end he got freaked out by the size of her apartment, which I suppose is a little bit better than being sickened by the size of her clit.

Steve and Miranda were counting down the days to the birth of their boy by building a cot, and discussing baby names. Miranda wanted ‘Danny’, Steve wanted ‘Paul’. Everyone knows that Danny is a cunts name, and ‘Paul’ is a bit better so really Steve should have gotten the naming rights.

As the rain poured over a dim New York day, Miranda broke into labour – years of being a Tory must have given her that permanent sour scowl. True to her cruel form, she chose Carrie over Steve as her birthing partner, deciding that Steve was ‘too emotional’. I just think she wanted the baby to be very animal friendly, hence choosing horse faced Carrie, a fact I reckon the scriptwriters picked up on, as Carrie was enjoying a romantic horse ride around Central Park with Big when she heard the news.

The baby came, and Steve looked like a glorious gleaming guy, his little baba clapped around his strong manly hands. Miranda decided to call him Brady after Steve’s surname which was a nice touch. I would have been a bit more tearful had I not been aware of the truly terrible mother that Brady would have looking after him in the future. And he was a fucking ginger.

We ended with strong pathos, and quite an emotional touch. Earlier, Carrie had wondered if fate was the thing that brought us all together, and whether ‘goodbye’ really meant goodbye. She paid a final visit to his house and found that he had left her two presents. The first, was the ‘Moon River’ record they had listened to earlier in case she ever got lonely, and the second was an envelope with a plane ticket to California in case HE ever got lonely. It made me a little bit sad truth be told – I’ve always hated goodbyes, but I really love sentimentality which is an odd combination. Maybe you’ve got to lose something to really appreciate that you wanted it all along.


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Season Four, Episode Seventeen – ‘A Vogue Idea’

Carrie’s new hair makes her look like Aslan.

Sometimes I feel like Jesus delivering the Sermon On The Mount when I’m about to write one of these reviews.  As Jesus implored his adoring audience to ‘turn the other cheek’, I urge the readers of martinthecity to ‘earn the other week’. Sure, they’re both meaningless statements, but mine does have a certain Je ne sais quoi to it.

This episode followed Carrie’s foray into the world of ‘Vogue’. Fewer magazines leave me as cold than a quick glimpse through the glossy pages of Vogue full of the smears of desperate wannabes spunking into the adverts, that  exception of course being ‘Chilly Mcfreeze’ magazine, a windswept romp about how to survive in harshly cold terrain.

For someone who claims to be intelligent, Carrie ain’t half dim. After calling Vogue ‘relevant and provocative’, she then sent in a five hundred word article on accessories which read exactly like her sex column. The blonde old bird from ‘Boston Legal’ told Carrie what’s what by telling her that not everything has to be about men – I agree, sometimes you can write about lesbians as well. Carrie protested that she was merely using ‘a little humour’ in the piece, but I’m afraid she deserved her criticism. As a writer of sorts I understand that the hurt when someone tarnishes your work is often very jarring and cutting, but she deserved it.

She deserved it for two reasons – one for saying that ‘Vogue is about vision’. No it’s not – it’s about selfishness and broken dreams. The other reason was her drunkenly flirting with the old guy who gave her the job in the first place. It felt apt that they were listening to Billie Holiday on the jukebox, as her desperate life of racism, heroin and desperation really hit home the feelings I get when I watch people like Carrie flirt. Seeing her drunk is a bit like seeing a three year old boy pulling the wings off a fly – you know you should step in and stop the cruelty, but the chances of vermin and scum being destroyed is one that shouldn’t be passed up on.

Samantha and Richard were discussing his birthday. Richard hates birthdays and I feel his pain 100%. I also love his name – Richard Wright, it reminds me of the very unlucky ex England goalkeeper who shares the same name and is now playing back at Ipswich. Maybe the producers of the show missed a trick by not including more footballing namesakes – they could have had a character called Paul Gascoigne who snorted a bit of coke, put on some fake tits before flicking his balls up in the air and ending up in a dentists chair position. Oh, I’m wrong sorry – I’d blanked Miranda out of my mind.

For his birthday he requested a threesome with a 21 year old woman who had been semi flirting with the couple. I’ve never understood the idea of threesomes, to me they just seem like a fight between a cocker spaniel and a massive tiger. At first it’s pretty amusing and light-hearted, but eventually someone’s gonna get their head bitten off.

Miranda incidentally was worrying about being a mother. Charlotte offered to throw her a baby shower to make her feel better. Unfortunately I have already reviewed a Sex And The City episode which strongly featured a baby shower, and so I have already used my baby shower ‘I’ve only been to one in my life, and that was when I went swimming aged six months’ gag. I am now repeating myself, which humorously gives me a lot more in common with this show than I initially realised.

Miranda and Charlotte had a little argument until they kissed and made up. “Watch out for the sharp edges’ was one of Miranda’s insults, a sentence she should perhaps have used to Steve when he was ram-raiding her with his one bollock that eventually gave her the demon baby. Carrie compared Miranda to a ‘father figure’ at one point, which made me wonder what my life would have been like had I had a pale, butch ginger lesbian in my life, as opposed to the guy who gave me my thick dark hair, and steely green eyes, but also my lack of empathy and short temper. Either way, I would have had different coloured pubes.

The threesome mentioned above lacked the power of the infamous American Psycho threesome – not enough requests to eat ass, or biceps flexing. It did result in a really nice moment when Richard realised that he really did love Samantha and wanted things to be exclusive between them. It must be really nice and filling when you tell the person you want to be with them and it all works out well, rather than both of you staring like rabbits in the headlights not moving on. And you know what happens to those rabbits… They run away. Forever.

Carrie met our old friend whose name I now think sounds like a cream for thrush – the Manolo Blahniks. Unfortunately for her she put them on as the old dude she was flirting with him earlier stripped down to a pair of Versace briefs and motioned for her to Vogue him right up. In classic Carrie selfishness style, she turned him down. Mind you, he did call her Cookie, and I fucking hate loving nicknames.

One final thought – Carrie boasted to her boss that “men I may not know, but shoes I know”. I think a statement like that really sums up the meaningless of not only this show, but life in general. It actually makes me feel sick, how on earth is that something to be proud of? Oh well done, you can own ten pairs of Kurt Geiger shoes, but you can’t hold down a loving relationship because you concentrate too much on the outside, and not enough on the inside. As a raven haired goddess once sang, “you’ve got to give a little, take a little, and let your poor heart break a little. That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love”.

I wish I was a child again so I didn’t have to worry about this shit any more.

I also ain’t fucking gay, despite my love for musicals.

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Season Four, Episode Sixteen – ‘Ring A Ding Ding’

Dreams, like glass can often shatter with the slightest pressure applied. I remember once, when I was a snip of a boy aged six that I really wanted to be a grandfather. However, the cruel hands of mother time tightened around my neck like John Leslie in a sauna, and I realised that everything doesn’t happen at once. That glorious little anecdote has very little in common with Aidan leaving his apartment with Carrie for the final time – but not before fixing a broken toilet which can only be a very obvious metaphor about the dregs of their relationship floating towards the gutter.

Like a John Leslie ‘special’ surprise, Aidan also gives Carrie something to think about, as he issued her with a thirty day notice to get out the apartment he had bought for them both, unless she could muster up the necessary bunce to buy it outright. How lovely for Aidan to do that, he could have been a right bastard and just left her there literally sinking in her own shit, but no – he fixed the toilet, and he gave her thirty days. Thirty days is a huge amount of time, like Brian Clough once memorably remarked, “Rome wasn’t built in a day, but I wasn’t on that particular job.”

Everyone has problems in this episode, but like everything concerning this show they are all rather superficial. Carrie panics when she realises she has absolutely fuck all cash in the bank, whilst realising that she has spent $40,000 on shoes. On fucking shoes! Ugly wedges, ill fitting heels – and let’s be honest, probably some crocs hidden away towards the back of the cupboard. Still though, she’s still not in as much dire straits as Miranda, who is ‘swollen and gassy’, and for once she’s not talking about her pussy. A pussy which is gagging to be filled by some sort of ‘cock’ but she struggles to find someone up to the challenge of riding up that particular creek.

Carrie’s money woes hit an all time low as she went to Big and asked him for some advice. He offered to pay her the money she needed in full, but she declined. I’d like to think it was pride that stopped her from taking it, but another part of me reckons she was just playing the victim. That’s classic woman behaviour all over – ask for something, and then act outraged and disgusted when someone takes you up on the offer. Doesn’t matter if it’s sharing chips or anal penetration, everything just has to be difficult.

Another distasteful moment occurred when Carrie was again moaning about her lack of money – only this time to her friends. Miranda and Samantha both offered her the money required, but she declined those two as well. What really pissed her off though, was the fact that Charlotte didn’t offer her the money as well, but why would she be so annoyed at that? Everyone knows that friendship and money don’t mix. Even including money with anyone you know can be a mistake.

I first learnt this aged seven, when a lucky streak playing ‘Snap’ drove me to putting my beloved fifty pence piece on the line, in a winner takes all battle, with the notorious school bully Simon Huntley. So confident that I had successfully de constructed the popular card game into a technique, I arrogantly opined that not only would I relinquish the cards if I failed, I would also do Simon’s bidding for the rest of my life were I to fail. And so, twelve years on, and with Simon’s dry cleaning sitting in the foyer, and me sat down in some dirty internet cafe in Manchester reviewing episodes of Sex And The City, I think we all know that money and other people just don’t mix.

As usually happens in this ridiculous show though, things seemed to work out well in the end. After a heart to heart with Carrie, Charlotte decided to ‘loan’ her the money she needed for the house by giving her the ring Trey had surreptitiously placed on her finger when they got married. Apparently this ring cost about forty grand, which to be is a ludicrous amount for a piece of jewellery – I wouldn’t even place a bracelet around my delicate wrist if it hasn’t cost the lives of at least three little African diamond workers.

Steve and Miranda ended up fucking each other after Miranda’s earlier complaints of feeling horny whilst pregnant. Whilst I appreciate Steve was probably just doing her a favour – and giving himself a fill of sex, it still disappoints me somewhat. Miranda has been constantly horrible to Steve during this pregnancy, and still he comes back like a battered wife who has just had last nights roast dinner thrown all over her puckered face. Maybe he’s just being a nice guy and wants to make sure his little baby has a fighting chance of a good life – and to be honest, I’m not sure if I’m referring to his penis or the new child when I mention his ‘little baby’.

Either way, one of the worst twenty-seven minutes of my life, to rival the time I was once trapped inside a lift in Hackney, my first cocaine binge, and my first posh wank.

R.I.P Bobby Robson.

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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 clichés 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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Season Four, Episode Twelve – ‘Just Say Yes’

I’m struggling to care about Sex And The City at the moment to be honest, as far too much is going on in my life. By ‘far too much’ I of course mean watching a multitude of sport that’s occurring at this time – the rugby in South Africa, Andy Murray defying the odds at Wimbledon, and the hordes of council house kids who scrap with each other every night outside of my window due to the harsh life that they have been dealt by God.

This episode started with Carrie finding out that her apartment was going ‘co-op’ which apparently means she could only stay there if she bought it outright. Not having the bunse for it, it looked like she was going to be out on her arse, until Aidan suggested that perhaps they buy the place together. Anybody who watched Bruce Springsteen at Glastonbury over the weekend would know that ‘Dancing In The Dark’ was a highlight, but in this instance it’s more dancing with the devil.

Especially when you consider that, after Carrie had found a ring – supposedly for marriage proposal in Aidan’s luxurious gym bag she panicked and threw up all over the place. That sort of reaction isn’t really the catalyst for a successful relationship is it, let alone sharing a house together. Maybe her sick was a reminder for people not to snoop around looking for things that you don’t want to find out are there. I can share a similar story – only two hours ago I was hugely worried, having listened to music far too loud resulting in my gorgeous, yet sensitive ears ringing for a good forty-five minutes. The worst part of it all was, I could never have gone to the hospital and told them of my problem in case they asked me what I was listening to – my reply of ‘C’est La Vie’ by b*witched would have had me laughed out of the place.

Carrie was going through dilemmas to rival ‘Nelly and Kelly’, although really all her own problems were in her own mind. Women are so ungrateful aren’t they? ‘How could I marry someone who chose the wrong ring?’ Carrie moaned after seeing the ring in question. How could you marry someone who would care about such a trivial thing like that? If she can’t have the grace, and the feeling of comfort to politely go ‘yes I’ll marry you but let’s change this bloody ring!’ then she should just fuck off now. “How do you know when it’s right?”, she also asked. Again – bit of a stupid question. If you think that you need to even broach that question, to put it out there, then it’s clearly fucking wrong. You KNOW when it’s right, when you’re listening to shit 80’s tunes at 3 in the morning and loving it, you can’t just say something like that.

Miranda clearly had no problems just saying things though, especially when she told Steve that she had gotten up the duff thanks to his super-semen whilst they were ordering ice creams. I’m surprised the scriptwriters didn’t go the whole hog and have them ordering ‘Nobbly Bobblies’ or whatever the hell those ridiculous things are called. I’m a Maxibon man myself, although sometimes you can’t go wrong with a 99. As Jay-Z once memorably crooned, “I’ve got 99 problems, which is ironic as that’s also the name of my second favourite cream based treat”. I think that was the demo version actually thinking about it.

Can you imagine living with Carrie Bradshaw? Sorry to keep harking back to her, but I do think about it from time to time. ‘Living with Carrie Bradshaw’ it sounds like the sort of shit show Channel Four would make, like ‘The Boy Whose Skin Fell Off’, and ‘Living with 50 pounds – the Karen Carpenter story’. I just don’t think it’d work, they’d be fashion magazines festooned all over the place, dirty knickers piled up in the sink to try and wash the shame, scum  and discharge away, with big problems everywhere else. Like when she met Big to tell him about Aidan. “He’s not the guy for you”, he told her. As remarks go, that’s pretty much bang on the money – but then who is right for her? If she can’t deal with the perfection of Aidan, then who else is she gonna turn to? Big? Don’t make me laugh. No really, don’t – I’ve got a terrible hacking cough that makes me feel like a rape victim every time I open my ebony lips.

Charlotte and Trey went to some sort of ‘Scottish fling’ which naturally left me in a state of distress. Fans of me know my feelings on the Scottish, but for those of you who don’t, it’s very similar to Garth Marenghi’s. My opinion of the Scots lowered even more a few weeks back, when on a jaunt to Sainsburys I was stopped by a grotesque Scottish charlatan, who asked me through scowled pursed lips if I could lend them the change for the train journey, because they had a doctors appointment for their hand which had doubled in side. Upon closer inspection, their hand was as swollen as Ian Huntley’s cock in a bathroom store, but alas their story was too unbelievable – what kind of a doctors is open on a Sunday? Realising I had almost been had, I doffed my hat and continued on with my day. A part of me died that afternoon, much like that persons fucking disgusting hand.

In the end, Aidan proposed to her whilst he was walking his dog, which must have left him confused as to who he was supposed to give the ring to. He ended up slipping the ring into the one with the more equine features. It’ll all end in tears won’t it? For Carrie and Aidan, for Charlotte and Trey continually arguing about having a baby, for Samantha fucking her boss in the most boring storyline I’ve ever seen, and even for Miranda and Steve – even after Steve proposed to her and got turned down because he had used a second hand ring. I don’t know what her problem is – curly haired and economical, has she never read the books on Stalin’s reign? If you can overlook a few flaws in someone, be it dodgy jewellery or millions dead in Siberia, you know your love can outlast anything – even the death of Communism.

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