Okay, I know that most of you guys are going to be hurting from this movie. It’s bad. Real bad. Yeah, I know your wife or girlfriend will tell you, “You took me to see Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, so now you have to see Sex and the City with me!” Fellas, I know Indy 4 was bad but trust me, about halfway through this shitfest you’ll be on your knees begging for a crystal skull to pop up somewhere.
For all of you who don’t Mitch’s Rule for Chick Flicks; allow me to clue you in. It’s a known medical fact that Chick Flicks are detrimental to a guy’s health. In order for a guy to be able to sit through a chick flick, he must be promised sex afterwards. The worse the Chick Flick, the more the chick has to put out. For example:
Four stars = Kiss on the cheek. Now before you say, “But Mitch, there are no such things as a four star Chick Flick”, but you’re wrong. There is ONE and it was called Terms of Endearment and it was worth sitting through solely because of Jack Nicholson’s awesome performance. Four star Chick Flicks only come along once in a lifetime and don’t let your mate forget it.
Three stars = Hand job. Three star Chick Flicks come around about once every four or five years and are low on torture, but still contain enough lovey dovey bull honkey to warrant SOME sexual satisfaction for the male. See: High Fidelity.
Two stars = Blow job. Two star Chick Flicks feature LOTS of lovey dovey bull honkey and/or a terminal illness but most likely will feature at least one very masculine actor that the male audience can identify with, like Patrick Swayze in Ghost. These films are usually followed by oral retribution on the female’s part to justify the man’s waste of $9 for the movie ticket and/or any other expenditures his date may require like cab fare or Super Sizing her Value Meal.
One star = Sex in the V-Hole. One star Chick Flicks are a dime a dozen. If your woman drug you to see The Devil Wears Prada, you get to fuck her. Marie Antoinette? You get to fuck her. My Big Fat Greek Wedding? You get to fuck her. Girls, there’s no way around this one; it’s the law in the 48 continental United States.
No stars = You get to do her in the pooper. These flicks happen every so often but when they do; have the Anal-Ease ready. It doesn’t matter if she’s an anal virgin; she got to give up the sphincter. Seriously, the promise of anal intercourse is the only way a man can sit through the movie Beaches without blowing his brains out with a shotgun. (Which probably also explains that movie’s tremendous following among the gay community.)
Which brings us to Sex and the City; the feature length theatrical retread of the hit HBO show in which Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Cynthia Nixon and uh… that other chick, run around New York City with shopping bags in their hands and act like lobotomized oversexed cocktail hostesses. Bringing a TV show to the big screen can be tricky business, but if we’ve learned anything from Star Trek, Mystery Science Theater and Serenity, we know it can be done and done properly. Unfortunately, movies based on TV shows that feature four numb cunts jibber jabbering for two and a half hours non-stop don’t always fare as well as movies based on TV shows featuring space ships.
That’s right, you heard me: TWO AND A HALF HOURS! This is the Return of the King of Chick Flicks, people. When you think it’s over, it isn’t. When it SHOULD be over, it isn’t. It just goes on and on and on.
And of that two and a half hour running time, only 45 seconds of it is devoted to actual sex! I’m not kidding. We’re talking 45 seconds of “Sex” and two hours, twenty nine minutes and fifteen seconds of “City”.
Speaking of sex, there are only FIVE titties in the whole movie, and only two of whom belong to Cynthia Nixon. That’s right; they paid those four cunts millions of dollars and only ONE of them shows off their goodies. RIP OFF! Not to mention that the flick tosses in every single Chick Flick cliché in the book. There’s a wedding, a birth, a divorce, and a break-up. Oh yeah, and all men are portrayed either as assholes or they’re gay.
The cast is all thoroughly annoying. While Sarah Jessica Parker looks like an emaciated Barbra Streisand, co-stars Jennifer (Dreamgirls) Hudson and Candice (Murphy Brown) Bergen look like they were paid in coupons for the Sizzler buffet.
All I got to say is ladies; make your men feel good after the film. (Don’t worry though; you’ll probably end up having less sex tonight than what was in this movie, so it’s all good.) Anyway it could be worse. At least you girls won’t go home walking funny tonight.
