Sex and The City Review

I've just spent the last half an hour Googling vaginal dryness. Thats right. Vaginal Dryness. My opening for this review was intended to make a point about how hideously malnurished Sarah Jessica Parker is, to the point where I literally retch when I see her semi naked. I'd been led to believe by Australian comedian Brendan Burns that 'super skinny girls can't get wet'. Researching this in a vain attempt to get people to stop admiring Carrie Bradshaw has led to nothing but dead ends, and a 'google history' of concerning content. While my 'research' has come up with bumpkis (i.e. nothing, not some new sexual term for rimming) I'm standing by the theory. So there.

If you are completely unaware of Sex and The City then you are very unfortunate indeed. Unfortunate not because you're missing out on any high quality entertainment or an insightful cultural piece. No you're unfortunate because it means you are a man that hasn't had any contact with the female race in the last 10 years. Except of course gay men, they love this shit. But for those few sad, lonely masturbators (that didn't tune in because it had Sex in the title) the show, and the film, is about four friends Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Samantha who all love shoes and cock.

A gross over simplification one might say. Well, one is a cretin for saying so because outside of shoes and cock NOTHING AT ALL happens. I don't mean in a kind of Waking Life existential Samuel Beckett 'nothing happens' way. I mean in a bored to tears, where is the nearest exit i hope it has stairs to the roof so I can end this joke of a life, kind of way. While there may be two or three scenes that wake you up from your fashion induced coma they stand out so painfully you can feel your balls retreating. Case in point, the break up set piece. This will go down in history as the most overly melodramatic scene ever. Ever. Wailing orchestra, flowers dropping to the floor, slow motion, hysterical screaming, fainting. I bet people in the middle of the Chinese earthquake reacted calmer than she did when her wedding didn't go exactly as planned.

What baffles me most is why women don't get outrageously offended by this stuff. Women are portrayed as two dimensional, simpering idiots, with no capacity for rationality or change. They never take the time to listen to the other side of the story and after the aforementioned breakup the first thing she worries about is her fucking wardrobe! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
But none of this ranting will stop this film making a gajillion bucks and sequels appearing like herpes on a hookers arse hole. Hopefully by the time those sequels do turn up I'll have found the exit to the stairs on the roof and I'll be enjoying my 7 second plummet to the ground.
Guys, I'll see you there.