July 6, 2011
Even if you don’t like Sex and the City, it’s a fact that any true betch has seen every single episode at least fifteen times since the series finale in 2004. After all, it’s on E! for five fucking hours a day.
Every girl went through that phase in high school when Sex and the City was her faaaaaavorite show. She was convinced that she was Carrie and thought that every single one of her stupid excessive puns was like, the funniest thing ever.
Side Note: Not everyone can fucking be Carrie. Nor should you ever want to be. She spent all of her money on shoes and bags and she still looked ridiculous 95 percent of the time.
Sex and the City is betchy for like, very obvious reasons. It’s all about sex and clothes and glamorous shit in New York City. Carrie is an extreme betch. She’s painfully narcissistic, really skinny, and hates nice guys. Look at Aidan, such a fucking nice guy. He let her take advantage of him twice! Also, she and the other three always meet at this one restaurant, and never really eat anything. Fucking duh. She’s almost a perfect representation of a betch, with one big flaw. She pretends like she wants to be all single and fabulous while in reality she’s waiting around for Big to stop being a douchebag and wife her up already.
Also we never actually see her working. All you see is her sitting in her living room smoking a cigarette typing retarded thoughts into her computer. And then I got to thinking, are MEN like SHOES?
So the truth is that we like the idea of Sex and the City. Really though? Fuck it, it’s the worst show. Not really true to life at all. It probably helped misguide the entire generation of women born between 1968 and 1983, its original target market when it premiered.
If we found out we were going to be 35, single, and childless, we’d probably kill ourselves right now, no matter how “fabulous” our #52 gay besties told us we were.
Let’s talk about the movies, or the pathetic studio sell-out fluffed up sideshow acts that were Sex and the City one and two. In addition to what we’ve already talked about, like how we think that the real Big would not so much as have his assistant email Carrie a love letter every single day, let alone do it himself; we were left bewildered by the cinematic prostitution we had just witnessed.
And why do they wear those ridiculous fucking outfits to sit in each others’ hotel rooms and wallow in self-pity? Why did they go to Abu Dhabi? Why do all three of Miranda’s closest friends fail to tell her that she consistently dresses like a man and has a lesbian coif? Come on. They can talk about anal sex but not the fact that Miranda is one cosmo away from suggesting a four-way?
But as much as we’re hating on Sex and the City, we really do see it as one of the best displays of betchiness to come out of the ‘90s. Sex and the City reassured us that it was okay to be kind of a whore and it was totally acceptable to only want to talk about clothes, sex, and celebrities all the fucking time.
And always remember that Sex and the City has taught us some really valuable life lessons. We’ll never forget that it’s still possible to get impregnated from a one-balled bartender, that two gay arch nemeses will inevitably wind up together, and that if you don’t put out until marriage, you run the risk of being left with nothing but a wedding ring, a Park Avenue apartment, and a flaccid #62 Pro penis.