Good tidings on this first Friday of June, Internet travelers. Is the weather nice where you live? Has that neighborhood swimming pool opened yet? Can you hear the sweet, lilting song of the ice cream truck as is barrels down your street at break-neck speeds, barely escaping a collision with the doughy face of a six-year-old who “just wanted a Spiderman Popsicle”? Are the birds and bees graciously eating one another’s assholes, or doing whatever it is they do to give us that birds-and-bees expression?
I’ll tell you one thing that’s not happening: I’m not going to see the Sex And The City movie. You couldn’t pay me to see that movie (note: actually, I can be bought for as little as $25). I can think of a thousand things I’d rather do than sit through that filth…that marvel of modern retardation…that testament to all things “gay” (as in stupid)…that dumb-women-lap-it-up-like-breast-milk bore-a-thon…that…that…God, does it [probably] suck. Since it’s Friday, I’ve condensed my list from a top 1,000 to a simple top 10.
Top Ten Things I’d Rather Do Than Watch The Sex And The City Movie
10. Masturbate With Fire Ants – And by that I mean I would rather break into a science lab at a local university, find the room with all the animal specimens, locate the plastic cage filled with thousands of fire ants, bore a hole through the side of the cage perfectly matching the girth of my penis, and then insert myself into the cage so that the fire ants can massage my dick with their legs, scrobes, and stingers. I’d remain there — being stung and having fucking fire ants trying to enter my urethra — for as long as it took me to orgasm. If it means two weeks before the swelling goes down enough so I can extricate my dick from the cage, it’d be time better spent than in a movie theater watching the SATC girls go clothes shopping and wait for younger men to line up and try and weasel their pricks into the girls’ dusty old snatches.
09. Read A Book About Racism (In One Sitting) – Maybe I’ll sit in bed and read “A Practical Guide to Racism” by C.H. Dalton, or maybe a tome by one of those annoyingly high and mighty figures who wants to clamor on about white guilt and “hope for the future”, like an Alan Siporin. Yeah, that sounds like a fun way to spend an evening. Oh! No, no, no, wait — “Incidents In The Life Of A Slave Girl” by Harriet Ann Jacobs. Now there’s a fascinating read that’s sure to keep my interest! Hey, maybe for the unabridged edition her editor could add a few more hundred pages about Harriet’s attempt to free her children from slavery after she RAN AWAY WITHOUT THEM.
08. Devour Some Tuna Fish – I mean canned tuna, not the tuna that they use for sushi, which I also won’t eat because of its relationship to canned tuna. I am almost certain that I never once tried canned tuna until last month. My mother and sister were eating it, and in an attempt to show them how mature I’ve become since moving out, I took a forkful. It was as fucking gross as I always imagined it to be, and it stank like the dirtiest pussy in the history of dirty pussies. Much like the old “chicken and the egg” scenario, I often wonder what came first: the fish-stinking dirty pussy or gross stinking tuna fish. To say that I’d rather eat anything — especially tuna — than see a movie must mean the movie is unbearably bad.
07. Fellate Bill Clinton – If I walked into my apartment after work tonight to find you and Bill Clinton sitting on my bed waiting for me, what could I do? I’d have to get down on my knees right there and take his hairy, flaccid dick into my mouth. And I’d have to do it to prove my point: Sex And The City might be the worst movie ever created. And yes, I’ve seen the advertisements for the new Indiana Jones movie.
06. Watch the surgery channel – I have a weak stomach, but I think I could psych myself into enjoying the surgery channel. I used to enjoy watching it with my sister when we were kids. If I could somehow find that head-space where I can channel out all the nauseating things I’m seeing, I might be able to withstand it…probably for an entire day. If you put me in the privacy of my own home with just a television and twenty-four hours of surgery on the television, I’d rather do that than watch Sarah Jessica Parker whine about the Prada bag fairy for one-hundred forty-eight minutes.
05. Date “Top Chef”s Lisa – That’s right, Lisa. The dyke beauty queen. The great culinary goddess of improperly cooked rice. The alluring dame whose arms-crossed, double-chinned scowl never ceases to make my dick shoot off like a firecracker when she’s standing at the judges table. God knows she’s been there enough times for us to get a great look at all her physical assets, the foxy bitch. Even though Lisa is a lesbian, she would make a great dinner date. We could talk about how she’s got an ass face. We could talk about her paranoia towards the other constants, who have constantly been plotting to sabotage her dishes. We could talk about how she threw Andrew and Dale under the bus. We could talk more about her ass face. Even though this will never, ever, ever happen, my date with “Top Chef” Lisa is still a more realistic story than Sex And The City, where an old blonde sex kitten named Samantha sleep’s with Manhattan’s gorgeous young male models. I guess in the real world weathered old hags always sleep with studs, but over here crazy land — where I apparently live — shit like that is considered to be highly unlikely.
04. Ride The Devastator – The world’s most thrilling roller coaster (so says “Mr. Show”), it features a heart-stopping 200 M.P.H fifteen-story drop, spine-cracking ninety-degree turns, and the final plunge: two whole minutes underwater. It’s soul shattering. But not as soul shattering as Carrie coming to the realization that she’s pushing forty and she still keeps a diary.
03. Raped By Bear – No, I don’t mean fucked in the ass by one of those fat, hairy dudes who hang out in a dark corner at a leather bar, wrist-deep inside a little Vietnamese boy. I’m straight, remember? I mean an actual bear. Like, a fucking grizzly bear. I would rather be raped by a grizzly bear than watch that stupid movie. Hey, I’ve taken some pretty heroic shits in my day…how big can a bear cock be, anyway?
02. Dinner With My Family – When you come from a broken home like I do, you can pretty much predict exactly the events which will transpire when everybody gets together for a birthday dinner, a graduation party, or some familial event that requires the presence of both parents and their children. The last time I had dinner with my family, my sarcasm meter was perpetually “in the red”. Voices were raised. Eyes rolled. Tears were shed. I’d rather watch my family members exist as a unit in a public setting than count myself among the idiot viewers who fancy themselves characters and SATC. Can you believe there are so many brain-dead morons out there that this movie actually earned 60 million dollars in one weekend? Fucking hell!
01. Eat horse shit. Okay, so maybe I would not literally eat the oats out of a horse’s shit before I saw this movie, but I’d go as far as eating tuna fish in a room filled with horse shit. In fact, it probably wouldn’t be such a bad idea to sit the horse at the table with me, because If I didn’t have my glasses on I could probably have an entire conversation with it without realizing that I’m not actually sitting across a table from Sarah Jessica Parker. She’s got a horse face, get it?
