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.