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Season Six, Episode Seventeen – ‘The Cold War’

Keep having really interesting dreams about animals. The other night I was a big bear, gamely wading through a jungle, scratching my back against a tree whilst a half-naked boy was trying to find his family. Then there was me as a potato head, amidst the chaos of a talking cowboy doll, and a little spaceman contemplating suicide because he found out he didn’t have any superpowers. I feel sorry for people with no imagination, I really do.

We kicked off with Alexander’s wandering hands touching Carrie up in a restaurant. His arty friends turned up, and they all proceeded to have a good old natter about his upcoming art exhibit, which was to be his first one in six years. All I can say to that, is what kind of lazy bastard takes six years to do anything? The Beatles released about ten classic albums in that time period, ‘we’ won a world war in less time, and Jack The Ripper eliminated half of London’s petulant prostitute problems in ONE SIXTH of that time.  It’s simply not good enough.

Charlotte was showing off her new puppy, the gorgeously cute Elizabeth Taylor. The dog was prancing and wiggling through New York, mincing more than a sensational Spaghetti Bolognese, or perhaps more relevantly, more than Gay Stanford on a day where he doesn’t feel ugly and bald. Charlotte planned to enter Elizabeth Taylor in one of those dog shows. Think Crufts, but with more odious Americans whooping and cheering, like those annoying divs who shout out “GET IN THE HOLE” whenever Tiger Woods swings his golf club.

Miranda was complaining about the move to Brooklyn, bemoaning her lack of internet. Her angry stance softened somewhat when her shitty gossip magazines were delivered to the new place, instantly transporting her into a wonderful world of celebrity cellulite and top ten tips on how to have the perfect piss. Funny how loads of women proclaim themselves to be so secure, so satisfied in their lives, when all they do all day is watch shit programmes like ‘The Hills’, read ‘Heat’, sip vodka through a pink straw and swear constantly, just to justify their mundane boring lives. Do something interesting, learn to play chess, stick playing cards on your wall, or if you’re thinking really outside the box, kill yourselves.

Samantha was getting wiggy with it. By that I mean she was wearing a lot of different wigs. She was concerned when the shitty gossip rags ran a story of Smith being gay because he was snapped in a photograph with Gay Stanford. I have no idea why she would worry so much, the picture looked less like two gay men posing provocatively, and more like the Hollywood hunk Smith putting a tender arm around a terminally ill older gentleman, albeit a dying man wearing a lurid green shirt.

Despite this, she was offended by being called a ‘fag hag’, forever killing the myth that Sex And The City is a gay friendly programme. As if cancer wasn’t bad enough for her, no-one believed she was fucking Smith. To counter this, she had him fuck her in front of a camera, a filmed sex act that was casually sent to the same gossip crap that had originally called him gay. Classy. It’s weird, any other episode involving a dog bleeding from her anus and you’d think I was talking about this scene with Samantha, being brutally arse fucked by Smith, but alas it was Elizabeth Taylor getting her period. This programme is getting weird.

Very weird for Carrie. A lot was going on in her life, most notably her insecurity about her relationship with Alexander. She was concerned that they didn’t have anything in common, and that they weren’t involved enough in each others lives. An interesting dilemma. Before I met my girlfriend I honestly couldn’t have given a shit about art, drawing or stop motion animation, but now I find myself fascinated by all aspects of her life, including art as that is a big part of it. This coming from the most selfish person I know – me! It wasn’t a conscious effort for me to be interested, it just naturally occurred, and I think maybe that’s the test of a relationship. If you need to HAVE to make an effort to talk about anything, then maybe you just shouldn’t try at all.

Big ringing her up constantly didn’t help Carrie either, and nor did Alexander being rude to her friends after she brought them round to see him. To be fair, he had told her not to bother as he was especially busy with his upcoming art ‘thing’, but she ignored him and wheeled them round anyway. How horrible of her, dragging a cancer victim halfway across New York for just a cursory glance at a maverick Russian artist.

We ended with Carrie and the Russian talking properly, for the first time about his own insecurities in his own work, and how sometimes he would look at the art he had already created and think it was pony. I’m paraphrasing of course, but there was a certain beauty, an innate sense that no matter how successful you are, you might always be riddled with the self-doubt, self loathing, and self-love that comes with being one of the most talented and inspirational people of your generation. I should know, I have two gay friends.


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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 Five – ‘Four Women And A Funeral’

And so we start with a dead fashion designer. Oddly, the news of his passing wasn’t met with glee at the thought of one more useless cunt obliterated from the world, but of a chance to look good at a funeral. I watched ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ earlier, which has somehow made me even more cynical than I was before about the whole fashion business. The thought that some people have such power over mindless drones is a bit scary, and let’s not forget a little bit arousing.

Carrie and Mr Big, the gruesome twosome, the beast and the beauty look like they’re getting back together. Carrie has a little moan about how she and Big broke up, until a gentle word from Charlotte reminds her that it was actually her that ended the relationship, not him. It was an interesting point, and one that adds further depth to the character of Charlotte, who seems to be the idiot who makes the killer points. Think Silent Bob, but with less hair. Her and the ladies debate whether it’s possible to rekindle an old flame. An interesting question, but I thought that the cavemen in the Stone Age had figured that out with the use of flints? Personally speaking though, I can only hold out hope that the flame still burns.

So, Carrie rings up the Big man to see if there is a chance at a reconciliation. I’ve no idea why she, me and everyone gets nervous ringing people up. I don’t think there is a quite a switch of feelings so powerful, than when you nervously ring up school/college/uni/work to take the day off, your heart beating fast at the thought of them catching you out, practising your sick voice in your head, taking fifteen minutes to work up the courage until it’s now or never and you just have to ring….and then the bored as fuck receptionist just goes ‘yeah alright cool,’ and the euphoria and the relief takes over you like a waterfall. Erm, anyway, Carrie and Big arrange to go on a date.

As for the rest of the supporting gang, Samantha has ruined another persons relationship with their wife, this time a charming fellow called ‘Dick,’ Charlotte is getting intimate with a widow, and Miranda is buying an apartment – only she’s getting jitters due to being single, ancient and ginger. She meets another oldie as she’s sizing the apartment up, and is informed that the last person who lived there died in the room, which when you think about it, isn’t too dissimilar to Cynthia Nixon’s acting career post Sex And The City. But then I suppose those pussy holes need filling. That night, she chokes whilst eating takeaway food, and I’m told it’s not the first time a woman has gagged on tiny Chinese balls – at least that’s what my Korean flatmate told me.

The date I alluded to earlier happened, only it was clouded in crap conversation. Questions like ‘what do you think happens when we die?’ are right up there with the staple student idiot question of ‘ooooooooooo Jaffa Cakes! Are they a cake or are they a biscuit?!’ Honestly, who cares? I don’t care if they’re sold in the biscuit aisle, I don’t care that they’ve got ‘cake’ in their name, I really don’t care. Stop being wacky for the sake of it. After that nightmare, they go bowling together, which is altogether more satisfying for all involved. As Big got a strike, I wonder if he knew deep down that it’d be the only time he’d hit the target that night, and not wake up feeling disgusting.

And as for Miranda? She had a little cry about her panic attacks, and wondered what the cause of them was. She could have saved herself the 500 notes it took for a quack to bullshit her with science, and simply asked me – the reason for the attacks is because you’re all alone, because you can’t realise your own emotions. She feels like she needs to fulfil a role in life – the angry, ‘intelligent’ feminist, and can’t risk being loving, or emotional cos she thinks it makes her look weak. No princess, what makes you look weak is not following your heart, but your head. As The Strokes once sang, ‘darling your heads not right…’

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Season One, Episode Twelve – ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’

I got really excited at the title of the episode (the last of the season,) thinking ‘yesssssssss, Christmastime!’ but I am pained to say I was wrong. I had a whole monologue planned about how my ultimate romantic fantasy is to be with someone at Christmas, the whole kissing in the snow, the little squeals of excitement come present time, “but I thought we had decided on little presents this year!!!” and of course the mistletoe, but I suppose that shall have to wait for another day.

The episode is actually about religion, and how Mr Big takes his mum to church every Sunday, and Carrie gets jealous that a) he hasn’t introduced her to his mum (or ‘mom’ if you’re an idiot,) and b) that he just won’t commit to her. Meanwhile, Miranda is fucking some religious nutter who showers after sex (who wouldn’t after being with that thing,) Samantha has fallen in love (with some lad with a three inch cock alas) and Charlotte is worrying about getting married.

Charlotte goes to a psychic to ask her about if she’ll be happy, and what her life has in store for me. She could have asked me for nowt – the answer would be the same for her, as it would be for all females – doomed to a lifetime of insecurity and unhappiness because you never ask for what you want, only for what you think you should ask for. The same could be said of Miranda, who gets more horrible by the episode. This time she’s banging on about folk who are religious, and how she’s met a ‘rational, logical guy,’ yet has a problem because of his religion. As a Jewish Muslim, with various Scientology symptathies, I find this sort of flagrant abuse outrageous, and a touch racist. Also reminded me that I need to sort out my Daily Mail subscription as well.

Back to Samantha – she again fell in love, but his weakness was a tiny cock – and not Jamie Cullum. They met in a jazz club (I’m honestly not talking about Cullum!) and bonded. Made me think of my top 5 jazz tunes –

Miles Davis – ‘Walkin’

Herbie Hancock – ‘Watermelon Man’

DJ Jazzy Jeff ft. The Fresh Prince – ‘Summertime’

Kirk Van Houten – ‘Can I Borrow A Feeling’

and of course, The theme from ‘Taxi Driver’

Carrie gets gutted (not literally sadly) when she eventually meets Big’s mum, and is introduced as a ‘friend.’ Must have been absolutely gutting for her, but I can’t help but feel that she might deserve it. Who am I kidding, of course she did. Episode ends, with her pretty upset as Big just won’t commit to her fully, and so it seems that the relationship – if that is even what it was, is over. Whilst I can relate in some ways to how she was feeling, the lack of communication between the two characters makes things seem a touch less believable. You’ve got to think at least one of them would be able to express what they really want, even at the risk of it falling apart altogether. Certainly though, the lack of chemistry between the two of them in an acting sense makes me a bit unable to suspend my disbelief as well.

Why would an urbane, intellectual like Big want someone like Carrie anyway? She’s utterly charmless, not that pretty, and has no hidden depth – something proved with every metaphor she makes being something to do with clothing, or shoes. Actually, I’ve been asked to talk more about the fashion in the show, so let’s just say Carrie wore a dark blue pair of Adidas tracksuit bottoms at one point in this episode, with a luminous green piping.

Overall, this series has been disappointing, although I am told that the show only really starts to warm up around series three, so long-standing fans of this blog will need not to feel disappointed as it rolls on. Anyone for some meaningless sex?

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Season One, Episode Three – ‘Bay Of Married Pigs’

I’m starting to really like the theme tune. It’s soothing, and reassuring in the way that ‘Moon Safari’ by Air was. It just evokes feelings of bliss in me, which I hope isn’t a sign of me beginning to enjoy the show, whose theme this episode seems to be about marriage, relationshps, and the difference between that and singledom.

The aforementioned feelings of calmness were obliterated about 30 seconds into the episode, when a character by the name of ‘Patience’ is introduced. Apparently one of Carrie’s friends from whenever, I stopped listening after the name ‘Patience’ was uttered. I know, it’s fictional, and I’m all for ripping up the rule-book (I’ve cheated on Monopoly at least once,) but who in their right mind thought ‘Patience’ was a good name for someone, fictional or otherwise? If you’re going to name your child something silly, at least do it properly, and take George Costanza’s advice…

Anyway, basic tone of the episode – are married people happy, and perhaps more crucially – are they the enemy? To be honest, I couldn’t really tell what the outcome was, because to my horror Charlotte has ditched the specs and shortish hair, and gone into her all-American girl mode just three episodes in. Terrible. It was a pretty boring episode all in all, although I was reminded of one of life’s all time most awkward situations. Miranda and the women she is having a faux lesbian relationship with (don’t ask) are walking down the street, when one of them meets someone they know, whilst the other looks a little coy. Terrible situations that, it almost makes me wish I smoked – but then I come to my senses, and realise I’m not a prick.

Softball was mentioned. Isn’t that a sport for bullied children and frustrated dads?

Miranda raised my ire again this episode, moaning about being single all the time. All the mug does is talk about dinner parties, or whining about something. I was trying to decide the other day who my fantasy dinner party line up was the other day during a particularly boring bus journey. I chose to go for people who wouldn’t really get along with each other – Nick Griffin and Alexei Sayle seated opposite each other, and Andrew Sachs sitting opposite the entire cast of ‘Hairspray’. Griffin would provide the casual racism, Sayle the passion and spittle, Sachs the chance of an early death to liven things up, and the Hairspray gang could give us some smashing song and dance numbers.

Aren’t there more important things to worry about than being single? Not according to Carrie ‘Mole’ Bradshaw. It’s hard to imagine someone so self centered, until you read a newspaper and read about Jade Goody, the useless goofy cunt. Carrie even uses the phrase ‘he’s not my boyfriend, he’s someone i’m trying on’, at one stage. Germaine Greer would be turning in her grave, had she not already been rejected by heaven (too cuntish) and hell (too cuntish) and thus is doomed to a life of selling her once beautiful soul out forever more.

Some soft lad mentions that “I don’t understand you women” towards the end, which left me utterly perplexed, at his perplextion. People like that just don’t deserve to live. And neither should the idiot who had the idea to play ‘R.E.S.P.E.C.T’ at the end of an episode where all four characters (Samantha shagged a busboy by the way) found out that perhaps love wasn’t going to come to them – hardly empowering, so hardly relevant. I only wish they’d played this instead, and saved us a whole load of time and effort. Bunch of sodding animals.


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Season One, Episode Two – ‘Models and Mortals’

Carrie’s mole is fucking huge.

This episode mainly focuses on men, and those that chase, and those that don’t. In one corner, we have geezers who like to chase, and fuck models. The sort who idolise women who model, and put them on hilarious plateaus. We’re introduced to some guy who brings a woman home every week to a dinner party, where he asks them the same question every time – which film star, alive or dead would you most like to fuck and at which period? None of them plumped for my answer – Andre The Giant in ‘The Princess Bride’, but I’ll let them off it. Anyway, this guy brought Miranda home for a change, and she’s puzzled as she’s told that usually he brings home models, but he was coerced by his friends to bring home someone with a bit of personality, as opposed to the say nothing idiots. Miranda doesn’t know how to react to this..

Perhaps that’s why she’s my least favourite character (after two episodes to be fair.) One minute she’s muted at the thought that she’s not model-like, and the next she’s indecisive about going out with some geeky guy who is infatuated with her – this hypocrisy within the world of women astounds me. Quick tip for you all – if you find someone who actually likes you for who you are – fucking make the most of it! Don’t chase losers, grow to love someone who’ll actually take care of you, rather than pinning your hopes on losers. Mugs.

Other things that happened in this episode – all the girls discussed what they didn’t like about themselves (thighs, chins, and noses were mentioned) before glorious, lovely Samantha said she loved the way she looked. If I was a sparkly American gay lad, I would have whooped and hollered ‘YOU GO GIRL!’, but alas I showed restraint, and merely smiled to myself. Fair play to her, and fair play to anyone who loves exactly who you are – that’s how life should be, don’t let yourself get sucked into misery. Sometimes I really think I should be writing motivational (martivational) speeches.

The X-Factor song is fucking rubbish. What a way to tarnish a brilliant song with that filth. And putting the cunt Eggnog or whatever his name is, and Diane ‘I can’t actually sing so I’ll try and do what Alanis Morrissette does and flap my hands around a bit’ Vickers in to sing the last line smacks of a ploy to get them to be the final two. Which they will – I predict my boys JLS will just miss out on the final, which is a shame. Quite like Alexandra and Ruth as well. Erm…

Some little notes I put down when the show was on – ‘gay man – bald, what a surprise’, ‘fashion shows are rank’, ‘Carrie smokes – what a dirty filthbag’, ‘are women really this neurotic?’, etc.

What I gleaned from this episode, is that basically women play many more games than men. All the planning they do, all the attempts to control everything that happens – it’s a bit sick. From these first two episodes, I implore you all to be more like Samantha, although if you could keep your legs shut a little bit more than she does, it’d be a bit better. You’ll notice Charlotte has got no mention this time – that’s cos she had about four lines, and just stood there looking smouldering in her glasses. I assume she gets more impact as time goes on, as she’s getting criminally underused here.

The last word, was again said by this mystical brute ‘Mr Big’. Following a conversation with Carrie about why men chase models, he was typically mute, until he unleashed the killer line (following on from an earlier comment about men loving beautiful women..) – ‘after that you wanna be with the one that makes you laugh’, which ended the episode on a beautiful note, until Carrie burst into a grin, with that mole growing bigger and bigger until the whole screen was nothing but pus and botox…


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Season One, Episode One – ‘Sex And The City’

..And so it begins.  I’ve now managed to obtain all the series of Sex And The City, so can now commence with the reviews, and start with enlightening myself as a person, or something along the lines of that.

As I stuck the DVD in the slot, I wondered about TV shows I actually like, and whether the first series of each were the best, or whether they got better as they went along. Seinfeld – first few seasons were definitely funny, but it really hit its peak around seasons 5 and 6. Boston Legal has gotten better the longer it’s gone on, whereas Arrested Development was absolute gold in season one, but subsequent series – whilst still funny got a bit more tedious. Of course, the shows that I think are similar to Sex And The City in terms of audience – Friends, Will and Grace etc, tend to be really hit and miss – I can’t think of a quality season for each, but I can think of lots of episodes I enjoy of both. Never shamefully though, because guilty pleasures are for batty’s.

You can tell a lot about a show by its theme tune, and immediately this show disappoints. A dull, semi-catchy instrumental piece welcomes us to the show, in a very low-key way. Carrie Bradshaw saunters about in a ballet outfit, showing off her wiry physique, her mole only match-stick sized at this period. What struck me about this episode (in contrast to the snippets of others I’ve seen,) was that Carrie spoke direct to camera, ala John Cusack in High Fidelity, which I thought was surprisingly effective. Part of my beef with the programme is the lack of empathy with the characters, although of course this is judged purely on brief watching. Carrie is horrendously hypocritical, Samantha is obnoxious, Miranda is dull, and Charlotte is, well yawnsome. Hopefully throughout the series I will grow to love them, like someone with AIDS grows to love their weakened immune system.

So, the actual episode… not much happens. The scrawled page of notes I jotted down mostly contained jibes against Miranda’s flame hair, although there was certain things that occurred that piqued my interest. Firstly, Charlotte is hot – genuinely. None of the characters can really be considered beautiful, but Charlotte looks vaguely hot and arty in this episode, rather than the try hard that came later. I assume this is the pilot, so obviously things changed along the way, but certainly Charlotte seems slightly different from what I imagined – she’s a bit kooky, and not quite the sap I had her down as. Samantha bangs along as her normal slutty self – a particular low point was when it was revealed that some geezer had never called up once after they ‘dated’ – which perhaps already shows her weakness – and why she acts like a cocksucker.

The plot was basically Carrie trying to empower herself, by acting like a man in bed. Unfortunately, this didn’t mean scratching and watching late night repeats of ‘Lead Balloon’ on Dave, but rather by acting selfishly, and harshly. Carrie discovers that whilst that initial power rush is nice, the emptiness doesn’t feel so good. Life changing – and they say feminism did nothing. My problem with Carrie, was that what makes her right to write a column about anything, when she’s so fucking dim? At one point she raises the question ‘did all men want women promiscuous?’ – firstly, blatant sexism against my gorgeous male contingent, and secondly – how ignorant? Whoever scripted this stuff has watched Cabaret one too many times. Carrie smoulders like a cunt, but goes against everything she believes in – AND THEN FEELS EMPTY! Where’s the message there? Don’t act confident because it’s shit? Stay in a rut? Who knows? Who cares.

At the arse end of the episode we see ‘Mr Big’ and Carrie share a ‘cab’ ride through New York, which if anything, proves that if you feel like you haven’t got enough unlikable characters in a television show – why not add another one?

Until next time.


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