Well, gentlemen, I finally took the plunge.  On Friday night, I did what we have all been waiting for since, oh, say February of 2004.  I finally dragged my girlfriend out to see the greatest cinematic happening of this decade for males between the ages of 25 and 50.  Sure, I had to bribe the girlfriend with sex and beer, but it was well worth the cost.  Seems these past few years of withholding sex have served me well.  After one round of sweet lovin’, she was putty in my hands. 

       So, with the woman reluctantly in tow, I put on my most expensive pair of John Lobb European Jermyn II shoes ($1,230!) and my most beautiful tailored Giorgio Armani suit ($3,595!).  After a full day at the spa getting a full facial treatment and a custom salon styled haircut ($645!), I was ready for the ultimate movie:  Sex and the City!  And, men, I must tell you, I looked fabu!

       When the “Sex and the City” series ended it’s triumphant six season run on HBO, I felt absolutely devastated.  I honestly did not know if I would ever be able to watch television again.  Life in the future for me just seemed so bleak and colorless without the spiritual guidance of Carrie, the backstabbing bitchery of Miranda, the sweet natured innocence of Charlotte, and the all out fuck-aholicism of Samantha.  I mean, really, who was I supposed to style my life after at this point?  Brooke Shields on “Lipstick Jungle?”  Lucy Liu  on “Cashmere Mafia?”  Bitch, please!  Those second rate hookers couldn’t carry Sarah Jessica Parker’s feed bag!

       Anyway, when I heard news that this movie was being made, I literally could not stop screaming with delight.  Seriously, I think I screamed for twelve days straight.  The doctors thought maybe I had an aneurysm or something, but I was just really fucking excited!  Anyway, as soon as I got out of the hospital, I started buying shoes and handbags (for men, of course) like there was no tomorrow!   I had to make extra sure that I had enough of a selection to put together the perfect outfit for this amazing film!

       Unfortunately, because my girlfriend thinks I’m fat and unattractive and not worth the money, she just would not spring for tickets for me to fly to New York to attend the world premiere at Radio City Music Hall.  I just don’t understand why she doesn’t see how important this is for me!  I don’t get all pissy with her when she wants to watch her sports or “Friday Night Lights” program on TV (as long as they don’t conflict with any “Sex and the City” repeats!  I’ve got all the seasons on DVD, but I don’t care, I watch the reruns anyway!), so I don’t see why she throws a fit at my request for her to attend this movie with me.  Women can be so insensitive, am I right, fellas?  Sure I am!  Anyway, I had to settle for seeing it here in my hometown of Nowheresville, USA like some piece of common trailer trash, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do it up in style!  Turns out the Alamo Drafthouse was having a big shindig for the premiere, and they were giving out free cosmos!!!  You know what that means, fellas!  My girlfriend was going to have to carry me out of there.  That is, unless I found another hot lady who had been dragged there by her boyfriend and was looking for a good time!  Please don’t tell my girlfriend I said that.  Oh, I meant it, but she doesn’t have to know!  LOL!

       Anyway, I have to tell you, I was dressed to the nines, and it was finally time for my reunion with my mentors, the four glamorous ladies from the Sex and the City movie!  I was so ready to spend two and a half hours with the women who had taught me how to truly live.   We arrived at the theatre, and the parking lot was packed!  That obviously meant that the movie was really good, so at this point I was shaking with excitement!  I nervously told my girlfriend to park down the street.  I wasn’t wearing my most comfortable shoes, but I could take them off to walk a couple of blocks.  After all, the Sex and the City ladies had already done so much more than that for me!

       We parked the car, and we started the walk down Anderson Lane.  On the way, we passed a bar called The Pork Belly.  Yuck!  There were a bunch of seedy looking guys standing outside smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking longnecks of inexpensive domestic light beer.  Talk about très gauche!  Those pigs wouldn’t know a good cosmo if they were bathing in it, although I doubt they ever bathed.  Oh snap!

       So we were walking by, and one of the guys says to me, “Hey, pretty!  Where you goin’ all dolled up?  Why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap?”

       Well, I was apalled!  I looked at my girlfriend to say something to them, but she just kept on walking.  Figures!  So I replied, “Um, no thanks, pal!  I’m off to see Sex and the City.  I don’t have time for you cheap hooligans, but thanks for the offer.”

       That must have been exactly what they were waiting for, because as soon as I turned my head, a full bottle of Piss Light or whatever those cretins were drinking bounced off of the side of my noggin, knocking me to the ground.  Before I knew what happened, I was surrounded by seven large, smelly men who had probably never used a moisturizer in their lives.  They proceeded to kick the shit out of me.

       Through the pain, I did manage to squeak out, “Please stop!  This suit… worth more than you will make in your life!” 

       That didn’t work, and they continued to mercilessly stomp on my chest and skull.  Luckily my girlfriend stepped in just as I was losing consciousness.  The policeman at the hospital who took my statement later that night told me, between muffled fits of laughter, that she singlehandedly beat up all seven of my attackers.  Guess I’ll have to start being nicer to her.  Maybe!

       So obviously I didn’t get to see the movie, and I am so miffed!  As soon as the bones in my legs back, jaw, skull, arms, and inner ear knit, I am so renting that fucking DVD.  Sure, it won’t be quite the same, but I’ll still have a good time.  Hopefully the beating I took didn’t cause no brain damage, because… that… wasn’t… be … um… good.

      Anyhoo, what did you bring me for Christmas, Santa?

The Madonna or the Whore: Portrayals of Women in Modern Television

by Colin Stallingsworth, Sigma Epsilon Chi 

       Not to sound too Jerry Seinfeld, but what is the deal with the portrayal of old women as whores on TV in the past few years?  Back in the golden age of television, older women were always protrayed on TV as kind, saintly, motherly, grandmotherly, or lovably goofy.  Women over the age of 35 only had two options for roles on TV: Sitcom mom or sitcom grandma.  That was it, end of story.  There were no other roles available for women on TV.  Some have said to me, “But what about soap operas!  There were all kinds of slutty, backstabbing bitches on soap operas.”  Okay, I will grant to you that those shows may have actually existed, but they came on in the middle of the day while women were at home vacuuming.  The vacuum drowned out most of the dirty parts, so no one was really paying attention.

       Then, a few years back, a disturbing trend began.  All over the television, shows began popping up showing older women with morally bankrupt views on sexuality.  You had your “Sex and the City” and your “Desperate Housewives” and “Lipstick Jungle” and “Cashmere Mafia.”  The list goes on ad infinitum.  And what do all of these shows have in common?  That’s right: old ladies fucking.  Hey, America!  You wanna see your grandma making out with the hot young gardener?  Turn to channel 4 to see Terri Hatcher’s melting face and man hands clutching onto some young actor’s toned abs.  You wanna see your great aunt making out with a couple of young pop stars?  Flip over to MTV to see Madonna tongue-kissing Britney and Christina at the Video Music Awards.  You wanna listen to your other grandma describe her lover’s penis in detail and then watch her take off her top to reveal her spotty old boobs?  Good news!  “Sex and the City” starring Kim Catrall is out on DVD!

     This trend actually has it roots in a few shows that came on TV when I was a kid.  First, there was the character of Mona on “Who’s The Boss?”  Now, I was pretty young when this show was on, but even I remember thinking, “Why are network execs trying to convince me that this withered old Skeletor with red hair is sexy? What’s their agenda?”  And then, one year later we saw the release of “The Golden Girls.”  75% of the old ladies featured on this program were just good, clean television fun.  But then there was the character of Blanche, the aging Southern belle played by a far-from-young Rue McClanahan.  As with Mona, Blanche was always portrayed flirting with hunky young studs.  Not only was the way these young men were portrayed as pieces of meat offensive, but it was also really gross because they were boning old ladies!  Yuck! 

       After a few years, I wasn’t able to turn on the TV without seeing some past-her-prime starlet stripping her kit off several years too late.  And these characters are always written as rich and successful women, as if their status in society gives them the right to go after all the young men in the world, husbands be damned!  So what’s the message being sent here by the networks?   ”Sure, old ladies, you can be whores!  You’re old and successful now, so you’ve earned it.”  Well, I’m not buying it!

        Rather than continue on this slow road to 24-7 granny porn on TV, I propose that we immediately cancel all the shows mentioned above and bring back the most morally pure and intellectually stimulating show that TV has ever known:  CHiPs!  If ever this world needed a hero with white capped teeth saving busty young ladies from criminals and traffic accidents, it’s right now!  Come back, Erik Estrada!  We never knew what we had until it was gone.

**Teacher’s comments**:  Colin – Your thesis shows a stunning lack of understanding of the basic assignment at hand.  First, you used no citations, your writing style was less than academic, and some of your diction was vulgar and far below the university standard.  Second, the title of this course is English 432: Survey of Post-Colonial Literature, so I fail to see the connection between your chosen subject and the works of Salman Rushdie.  Third, and most importantly, I don’t think you are even enrolled in this class.  Grade: F-