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Season Three, Episode Fifteen – ‘Hot Child In The City’

Does it ever hit you that you’re getting on a little bit? I’m only nineteen, but I find it very scary when I think that I left secondary school three years ago, then I left primary school eight years ago, and that I took my first sniff of cocaine fifteen years ago. These things really catch up on you, they really do.

I say all this, because this episode centres on being a child again. Carrie meets a guy who owns a comic book shop. Despite my geeky tendencies of liking professional wrestling, I’ve never quite ‘got’ comic books. Sure, stereotypes are usually a bad thing, but can anyone think of someone even remotely cool who reads that sort of nonsense? You never find someone who laughs at themselves for reading it, instead all you get when you gently rip the piss out of a comic book enthusiast is a stream of excuses. “Hey man, it’s not a comic! It’s a graphic novel!” Or, “hey man! These stories tell of doom man! And they’re so complicated man!!!!” Yeah right, I suppose Bananaman represented the Apartheid struggle in South Africa during the 20th century, and Superman is a reflection on man’s inhumanity to man? Bollocks.

Anyway, this guy lives with his mum in a lovely house overlooking Central Park. Is that a problem? I dunno really. Samantha has difficulties with it, but you have to remember that most people her age would be in nursing homes, so you can see why she’d find it a struggle to come to terms with. Samantha has her own problems in this episode though, as she organises the party of a thirteen year old girl who acts like she’s thirty.

It does make me a little bit sad to see little girls acting like they’re all old and experienced. I’ve often wondered at what age do women stop trying to look older, and start trying to look younger? I reckon at about twenty-one, which when you think about it is pretty grim. Imagine spending the majority of your life chasing old times? I blame Heat Magazine, and racism. Can’t understand why the thirteen year olds don’t go around scrumping for apples, or watching Hannah Montana, or braiding each others hair, instead of chatting about sex and worrying about boys. Embrace youth, although not literally, or you’ll end up like these rogues…

Charlotte is still having issues with Trey, mostly concerning his cock and the lack of an erection. After an unsuccessful counselling section with a bearded idiot, Charlotte was shocked to wake up in the middle of the night to find Trey furiously wanking whilst looking at a copy of ‘Juggs’. Although I prefer ‘Black Babes Monthly’ I can understand why he would choose that particular magazine. A slight happy ending for them, as Charlotte cut out loads of pictures of her head and stuck them on the images of the massive tits. I’m pretty sure Freud would have a field day with that sort of behaviour, had he not been a dead, useless cunt. I was gonna call him a cock, but I’d be psycho-analysed by the psychology brigade.

Despite Carrie telling Comic Book Guy that “I’m not the kind of girl that has sex on the first date” they do end up sharing some meat together – the meat being a couple of boxes of KFC, washed down with some very strong weed. I’ve never smoked weed, but then I’ve never smoked a regular cigarette, or even imbibed alcohol. I’m not saying that fact makes me a hero, but it definitely makes my soul a lot purer than the rest of you. Alas, the relationship couldn’t continue after his mother kept constantly interfering, and Carrie returned to her apartment with a few ounces of skunk, and a sense of shame.

I’ll leave you with two very disturbing parts of this particular episode. Firstly, Miranda wore braces here. Just when you think that life can’t sink any lower, and that you can’t find someone more grotesque and disgusting, that happens. Honestly, what can they do now? Make her come out with a Scouse accent next? It’s like the writers of this show deliberately made her character just to wind me up about everything. I thought Carrie would be the one I really disliked, and sure – I loathe the curly cunt, but Miranda is another level. And no, I won’t let her freak me.

The second disturbing bit that made me especially uncomfortable about the ignorance and stupidity of teenage girls, was when one of the thirteen year olds said that “I’ve been giving blow jobs since I was twelve, it’s the only way to get guys to like you.” How upsetting is that? Everybody knows that the real way to get a guy to like you is to let him stick it up the wrong’en. Honestly, some people have no idea about anything.


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Filed under 3rd Season

Season Three, Episode Fourteen – ‘Sex And Another City’

Apparently 80% of Americans don’t own a passport, but when you consider that 56.4% of statistics are made up on the spot, how do I know what to believe?

As it is, this episode revolves around the girls going to LA because Carrie has managed to pull some strings and snaffled some tickets to a film première of some sorts. The only real pulling of anything substantial occurred when Carrie had a bikini wax, and ended up as bald as Gay Stanford. Allegedly waxing is very painful, but I can’t help feel that women – who love a good moan about anything, make it sound ten times worse than it actually is. And hey, if it really is that painful then surely it makes up for the emotional damage they inflict on men every day?

Let’s talk about Miranda anyway – surely the most annoying character in television history. I’d have everything waxed if it meant she wasn’t kicking around stinking up my television any more. You name it – legs, balls, glorious head – anything, absolutely anything. Her latest piece of idiocy happened when she caught up with an old pal of hers in LA. They had been friends in LA and she had remembered him as a cynical tubby fella, but when she saw him she saw that he had lost loads of weight and gained a sunny outlook on life. Here’s my problem:

People who consider themselves liberal usually tend to be the most small minded of people around. Cynics in general are a miserable bunch, and are always talking about how they wouldn’t like to associate with a certain type of person – those who read certain tabloid newspapers, those who wear certain items of clothing, those who don’t work etc. I appreciate that this is a bit of an extreme comparison, but is that any different to someone saying they wouldn’t want to hang around with a black person? Sure, most people are idiots, but those who don’t live their lives reading The Guardian and eating  weird vegetables aren’t likely to turn their noses up at those that do. However, the ‘liberal’ idiots who fancy themselves as open minded are much more likely to dismiss the regular folk that make this country great.

Just because someone reads The Sun (and only the sports pages) it doesn’t mean they’re any less intelligent than you! The Guardian is just a tabloid posing as a broadsheet for students and old paedos who spend their entire adult lives sat in corporate coffee shops skim-reading 1950’s beatnik novels in a desperate attempt to reclaim their former glory.

I’ve lost my point – was there ever one? I still agree with my statement above even when it turns out that this guy isn’t as happy as he made out. I can respect why people don’t like LA – but for people who live in New York it’s a bit stupid to dismiss it. I’ve never been to either, but they come across as very similar – misplaced arrogance, the obsession with looking good, and loads of crime. The difference is, people in LA tend to be more confident – lying around in the sun all day, whereas New Yorkers are all really boring and walk around art gallery’s stroking their chins whilst snorting coke off the backs of Asian dwarves.

Two quick points – I can’t stress enough how much I hate smoking, and I can’t get across just how much this programme genuinely disgusts me. I was away for the weekend, and almost began to miss it, but as soon as it starts, as soon as I see Carrie in that ballet outfit, with her nipples looking like a toddler’s finger painting, it gets me down, it really does.

This was further proved when Miranda had the sheer audacity to say “Who cares what you look like?” How could anyone be so fucking dim? The fact she then followed up that pearl of bollocks with the phrase “no self respecting New Yorker would do something like that” was enough to make me throw up my Brazil nuts. This whole show is about how you look, and where you’re looked at – there are no hidden meanings, nothing deep, nothing enlightening. It’s twenty-five minutes a week of stating the obvious. You can’t even call it escapism – because a) nothing really exciting happens, and b) it’s so miserable and repetitive you can’t feel good about yourself watching it. If you want to learn about heartbreak, read some Keats or have a danger wank – you’ll feel a lot better than this garbage. Sorry, ‘rubbish.’

Hugh Hefner made an appearance in this episode, and surprise surprise Samantha sauntered over to him and practically fellated him there and then. I’ve never really got the whole glamour model/Playboy thing. The thought of staring at some complete strangers tits and naked body is one that leaves me a little cold emotionally. If there is no emotional attachment, then what’s the point? If all you’re interested in is the baps, make yourself a bacon roll, or if you’re Jewish, a Christ Killer sandwich.

Charlotte compared her relationship with Trey to a bag. I suggest all four of the sluts in this show are like Ugg boots – ludicrously expensive, far too warm, and worn out and filthy by continual use. The only highlight of this episode I can give is a cameo from Vince Vaughan back when he was lithe and kicking. The coup de grace was Carrie ending the episode wearing a pink bumbag – I felt as knocked out as Ricky Hatton, and twice as depressed.


Filed under 3rd Season

Season Three, Episode Eight – ‘The Big Time’

In my alone time, which is becoming less frequent due to me being such a great guy I sometimes think about whether I’d like to be a ‘Big’ or an Aidan. Ideally you’d like to combine the two – Aidan’s affability and luxurious mane, and Big’s fantastic suits. What has this got to do with this review? Wait and see…

One thing to consider strongly though, is that Carrie actually has a perm in this episode, and I’m pretty sure she’s too stupid to be ironic. Although, saying that – idiots who wear stuff to be ironic are usually idiots. “Oooh, look at me wearing this bright t-shirt! Only idiots wear bright t-shirts! But I’m wearing one because it completely goes against my dour personality! DYSWIDT?” Only one word for them – idiots. Terrible fashion in general in this episode – one man has a ponytail for gods sake. I’ve only met one geezer with a ponytail that I’ve ever liked, and that was my old Philosophy teacher at college. Didn’t stop me from getting a U in my exam though. Who knew that talking about the film Miracle on 34th Street guaranteed you a fail?

‘The Menopause,’ two words that will send any woman shivering into the abyss. Samantha is panicking that she might be entering the stages, whilst Miranda is looking forward to it. Who knew that the miserable twat would be eagerly awaiting the opportunity to be morose and miserable with good reason? It’ll come as no surprise that she’s as moribund and angry as it comes when Steve tells her that he’d quite fancy having a child with her over some noodles. Nice to see some give and talk in the relationship eh.

Steve though, he’s a great guy – still. Honestly can’t see anything wrong with him. He actually watched an episode of Scooby Doo during this show. Seriously, what a guy – what a laugh. Great fucking guy – those tight knit curls, beautiful. “Let’s hope the baby inherits my positive attitude,” remarked Steve, and I have to agree – as long as the baby gets that, and his hair colour it might have a fighting chance at a decent life. Surprised me that Miranda didn’t want a baby – don’t all women have the names and room colour schemes wrapped up by the time they’re ten? Certainly Noah and Amelia have been in my mind for at least six months…

Carrie meets Big on a boat, and I can only assume that the reason she didn’t throw herself off like the worthless piece of rubbish she is was purely to torture me some more. The only good thing about this segment was the reference to the classic television show ‘Loveboat’ which is definitely in my top 45 television theme tunes – the top three of course, containing the themes from ‘Neighbours,’ ‘Only Fools and Horses,’ and ‘Happy Days.’ Still though, the chance meeting confused Carrie who had a little worry over whether she still had a Big piece of Big in her Big gloomy heart. Big. Big. Big. Big. Big. Oh, my top one Big’s? Oh, just Notorious….

“Men are like cars,” some slag said at one point. “When they’re available, their lights go on.” I agree – to the same extent women are like buses. Shit, slow and unreliable. I’ve got a horrible feeling that I’ve already used a bus analogy in one of my previous reviews, but the day I stop making crap metaphors is the day I die. Samantha like a seal for example? I won’t explain that one. Think about it. She does reveal her real age to the girlies here, but for the discerning television audience it remains one of the greatest mysteries of our time – the Janitor’s real name in Scrubs, what’s in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction, and how that odious sweaty cunt Edith Bowman keeps getting work.

Samantha does sleep with someone here, although she “slept with him to shut up him.” Isn’t that a really depressing thing to say? No surprise that women have such low self esteem when they do things like that? Not as depressing as the sight of Samantha’s crimson river flowing through the crisp white sheets of the bed, reassuring her that old age is still a time away. Nor as depressing as Charlotte getting involved with someone really boring who just kept talking and talking and talking. Such a smooth operator that he told Charlotte that he loved her, which to a squealing cunt like her is music to her elf ears. Not quite Nat King Cole, more Anal Cunt…

Steve bought a dog as ‘practise’ for the baby, which was an incredibly sweet thing to do, but Miranda’s stupid fucking brain couldn’t couldn’t compute the idea of someone being nice to her, so she ended the relationship – citing Steve as the problem. How can perfection be a problem? Miranda is such a corporate suit – I’d love to destroy her like that cunt from Juno does to the paedo in ‘Hard Candy.’ Hopefully this doesn’t mean the end of Stunning Steve.

Not a very happy ending for Carrie either – as Big turns up at her flat literally seconds after Aidan told her that “you make me very happy,” so not the best timing. I felt for Big, I really did, but is missing someone really enough? Is it better to never tell someone you still like them, or is it best to just say ‘fuck it,’ and just do it? Can you turn up at a doorstep miles away with a crumpled bouquet of Sunflowers and a thousand explanations for why you were such a dick and why you never made the effort? Gloomy people in love make me sad, which is why I’m glad that things seem to have sorted themselves out for me at the moment.

To cheer myself up (and you for having to read this shit,) how about a video of a dog with a balloon?


Filed under 3rd Season

Season Two, Episode One – ‘Take Me Out To The Ball Game’

Let’s get something out of the way first – fur, or even more ridiculously ‘fake fur’ coats are absolutely horrible. I see all sorts of idiots wearing them in London, especially at my uni, and they all look crap. You won’t be surprised to find that Carrie is sporting a particularly nasty one in this first episode of season two.

This episode seems to be about break ups and how to deal with them, despite Carrie necking a baseball player who ‘bats’ for the ‘Yankees.’ I’m a big fan of most sport, but even I can’t get excited over glorified rounders. Carrie is getting over Big anyway, and we find out that my old favourite Miranda also holds bitterness towards someone who left her ‘two years ago,’  – surely the most sensible man since whomever decided that D-Day was gonna be a good idea.

A big discussion in the episode, was that of how do they get over ex’s? Whilst Carrie tried the age old tactic of avoidance, she turned out to be more Shannon Matthews, than Maddie McCann – plus more ugly. Seeing Big at the end of the episode reminded Carrie of all the good times they had shared, as his big bear like paw gripped her shoulder like a particularly furious wank.

Despite all this being Carrie-centric, the main character in the episode was unfortunately Miranda. As the girls were yet again discussing everything to do with men whilst supping orange juice in a restaurant somewhere, Miranda snapped just like Ken Shamrock, and went on a rather impressive rant, wondering why such intelligent women were reduced to constantly discussing men like that was the only thing important. However, just as I was all set to love her – you see her wearing fucking dungarees again, which managed to be even uglier than those bloody fur coats.

People who think that they’re intelligent are very interesting – though usually in wrong ways. For starters, if you’re so bloody clever then why do you only THINK you’re intelligent – thus signifying doubt, why don’t you KNOW you are? Secondly, there is a massive distinction between actual intelligence, and just being able to, I dunno – quote the 49 times table from memory. Show me someone with a ‘passion’ for maths, and you’ll usually see the box of empty tissues by their bed soon after. See also: philosophy students. Idiots.

So Miranda, wandering through New York in a baggy blue two piece sweat suit suddenly sees the ex love of her life, hides behind a tree, and realises that perhaps the reason she’s so bitter about all this man talk, is that she can’t come to terms with her own feelings. Meanwhile, Samantha is still with the lad with the 3,’ whilst Charlotte is dating someone AGAIN, this time someone into ‘Jazz,’ so clearly a nonce. Seriously people, how many people do you go out with in a year say, cos these folk seem to be with someone new every single week – it’s a little bit wrong.

Carrie cries towards the end of the episode, and unfortunately for her it’s whilst she’s kissing the baseball lad. Reminds me of a very disgusting story someone told me whilst I was at college about one of our mutual friends (I say friends, acquaintances at a push.) Anyway, this ‘friend’ is sucking an Essex lothario off, when he decides he needs to relieve himself – only he’s too lazy to find a toilet, so instead of saying ‘hey, brb lolzzzz,’ he instead pisses in her slutty mouth instead. I say slutty of course, because she didn’t mind – instead spitting it out, and continuing with what she was already doing. And people wonder why the Essex Riviera has such a bleak reputation.

Episode ends with Carrie tearfully ringing someone up from a phone box asking them to meet up as ‘their place.’ You think it’s the Big man, but no – it’s fucking Miranda again, this time wearing a natty black polo-neck – which actually reminded me to get one for myself – thinking of teaming it with a grey blazer. Oh no. I’m actually turning into one of them aren’t I.


Filed under 2nd Season