"Sex in the City "
by
Joe Lust

 

Oh yippee, another season (truncated I might add because someone was foolish enough to knock Sarah Jessica Parker up) of Sex and the City has arrived and for most of us men that can only mean one thing: wake us when it's over. We're not even going to stay awake if our significant other offers us a blowjob during the show, because yes, we hate it that much. Why? Because 1) those four cardboard cutouts, also known as actresses, died, and dried, on the vine a long time ago. Can you say: WAY PAST THEIR PRIME?

And it has nothing to do with age here so don't break out any of that feminazi ageism crap (although we do prefer younger women), it has to do with the incessant stereotypical bitching and moaning on a show about women created by a gay man. Oh now there's verisimilitude.

Maybe we were intrigued for the first season and a half, but give us four years of this superficial mouthwash and you have given us about enough impetus for us to consider switching teams to Showtime and shacking up with the Queer as Folk gang. Yes, we are that sick of Carrie, Amanda, blah and blah, and the revolving door of f*cking male twits who have helped make these four highly dysfunctional dames more empowered than Cleopatra entertaining her own private Chippendales pageant.

Yes, we know it's a "chick show" and we're free to watch anything else on the dial, including some moronic new show that you know you can count on FOX for, but we still have to hear about them, see them everywhere, and yes, have nightmares that we are going to have to settle for something just like them in our lives. Because yes, where it was once Gloria Stenheim, it's now every HBO able female in our midst being weaned on one too many "Sex" episodes. God help us. Because now we not only have to do the laundry, worry about "her" orgasm, etc., but we have to live up to the legend of some f*cked up faux knight-in-shining-armor named "Big." Don't you think we're already self-conscious enough about our penises, ladies?????

I have a solution for HBO. Next year why not go back in time, flashback to when the women were say, 20 years younger, and maybe you'll pull the young male Dawson's Creek crowd as well as the over 30 Bitter Women's Club. Yes, bitter! And that is all this show does (besides get amusingly crude), it reinforces the myth that men are such a second class-piss-on-fire-hydrant-species who don't deserve the adoration of any woman in her right mind. And you know, hey, if you ladies would rather sit around with your Chardonnay and BOBS (Battery Operated Boyfriends) than join the real world and....GET OVER IT! (and that includes every harmful relationship that you deem you suffered through, including your father's) then best beware of the outrageous slings and arrows of a life alone and a case of carpel tunnel syndrome that we won't be there to help massage away in the morning. Hell, we won't even be there in the evening to passively aggressively coerce you into the wet spot, and for that, you could at least thank us, ladies.

P.S. Enjoy your Awards, just know that they will never come to life, no matter how technologically advanced we become.

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