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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 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 Three – ‘The Freak Show’

‘Are all men freaks?!’ screams the blurb for this episode – and I know exactly what you’re all thinking – who are my top five freaks of all time? In no particular order, The Elephant Man, The Guildford Bearded Lady, Madonna, Max Clifford, and whichever cunt keeps commissioning ‘Two Pints Of Lager & a Packet of Crisps.’

What struck me with this episode, is that whilst everybody seems to go on dates with each other, they all share very similar lifestyles and characteristics. Everyone is a banker, or an artist, or a litigator – basically suits. You’d think, if it didn’t click the first time with someone who just seems to be about cash’n’sex, then maybe you should branch out with the people you get emotionally attached with – try an ice cream man, or a bored student in London. Who is to say that people like the aforementioned suits are in any way interesting? Although I’d love a job that gave me loads of cash, I’d hate that to come at the expense of a personality – but perhaps that’s not what’s important these days.

Dear old Samantha gets upset this episode, because she gets mistaken for being 40, which er… she actually is. The fact that the guy who told her this then wanted her to smack him about whilst he was chained up in bondage gear failed to raise questions, and so off she went to get collagen injections, or whatever it’s called. Obviously, as you’ve gauged with the title of the episode, it’s all about freaks – and men being freaks in particular. ‘This is why I don’t date men,’ whines Miranda, who has spectacularly morphed from literally being a sobbing baby in the last episode, to an arrogant ginger vixen in this one. But of course, she’s a woman so those sort of double standards are not just allowed, but downright encouraged.

Charlotte meets someone named ‘Mr Pussy,’ a man devilishly skilled whilst ‘going down’ on women. “I passed out when I came,” Charlotte confided to the gang, which almost definitely resulted in knowing nods from them – Miranda and Carrie especially. I can’t imagine too many men being pleased after ploughing those particular furrows. Speaking of the witchdoctor, Carrie goes on a succession of blind dates – finding faults with a couple of gentlemen. One apparently has ‘no soul,’ which is a bit of a rich thing to accuse someone of  from a woman who can’t seem to function without wearing a pair of expensive shoes. Another is slagged down for ‘having two faces,’ – because of course, dear old Carrie has never said one thing, and meant another. Sounds like another BIG mistake. She does however randomly meet a chancer in a park who ‘last week dated someone who kept her shoes on in bed.’ No idea why that’s so weird, everyone does it right? Right?

Despite this bizarre meeting, he asks her if she wanted to go out to dinner. I’ve never understood why people would go out to eat something as the main part of a romantic gathering. Sure, team it with a film, a spot of ice skating, a gorgeous walk down the seafront, but why would you choose somewhere that requires you to have your mouth shut eating for at least half the time you’re there together? Odd – but then I don’t play by ‘the rules.’ I feel like I have mellowed somewhat though, or maybe it was the hot chocolate I was supping whilst watching this, but I couldn’t really feel annoyance between the two – more of a wry smile – or if you’re pretentious, a grimace.

Women are very odd creatures though aren’t they. Frustratingly beautiful yeah, at times the sunshine of our lives, but more often than not, a complete pain in the arse – and not the good kind that Gay Stanford often refers to. Miranda offers the opinion that ‘you can tell everything about someone by their friends,’ which not only goes against my own philosophy that you can tell everything about someone by their shoes, but is also complete bollocks. Think if you were looking at Miranda’s pals – what would you see? Seemingly only three real friends, one of whom is getting the arse of a pig injected into her face, one whose face resembles a horse with every passing episode, and the other one who has never formed their own opinion ever. Gee Miranda, you seem like a real catch.

We end with Carrie being literally caught fiddling through a fellows property because there “has to be something sick” about him – but there isn’t, only a collection of scout memorabilia, which actually when you think about it… But no. Carrie realises that it’s not just men which are the freaks – but women as well. Did this woman never go to school?

“I guess I was looking for something freakish,” she offered at the end of the episode – has she never seen herself on film? It’s not a pretty sight…

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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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