Do you remember the rainbow party hysteria of a few years ago? I can’t remember where it all started, but people from coast-to-coast became convinced that a tidal wave of children’s oral sex orgies was washing over America. Oprah, I believe, had a story about it. And someone wrote a young adult novel about the trend. Of course, as you might have guessed, it’s now considered doubtful that even one so-called Rainbow Party ever took place. When the smoke of moral outrage dissipated, not a single, little rainbow colored wiener could be found. And there was no evidence that girls anywhere had lined their mouths up, like stations along a conveyor belt, each outlined is a different color of lipstick, from red to violet. I suspect that the story grew out of the nation’s obsession with Clinton’s tryst with Monica Lewinsky, but it doesn’t matter. What matters, is that another wave is building. This time, it’s something called “star” parties, and the epicenter is Poland. Here’s a clip:
Students, aged 14-15, played a game called “the sun” or “a star”. “Girls lay on the floor in a circle with their heads together and eyes closed and boys copulate with them, taking turns. The winner was the boy who managed to finish the intercourse last,” one of the students revealed.
The game resulted in several pregnancies. “This year five girls got pregnant, two of them have already given birth,” said Anna Czarnocka, the school’s headmaster…
I suspect it’s untrue, but I thought that it would make a great intro to this equally outrageous clip, which is from Vivian Salama’s review of the new film Sex in the City 2, which, we’re led to believe, takes place primarily in the United Arab Emirates.
We’ve been thinking it for two long years. All of us. Gnawing our cheeks at night, clutching at sweaty sheets, our faces hollow and gray, our once-bright eyes dimmed by the pain of too many questions. Sometimes we cry out, en masse, to a faceless god and a cold, indifferent universe that holds its secrets close. “What”… rasps the death rattle of our collective sanity. “What is the lubrication level of Samantha Jones’s 52-year-old vagina? Has the change of life dulled its sparkle? Do its aged and withered depths finally chafe from the endless pounding, pounding, pounding—cruel phallic penance demanded by the emotionally barren sexual compulsive from which it hangs? If I do not receive an update on the deep, gray caverns of Jones, I shall surely die!”
Please don’t die. The answer is… fine. Samantha’s vagina is doing fine. She rubs yams on it, okay? She takes 48 vagina vitamins a day. It accepts unlimited male penises with the greatest of ease. Now let us never speak of it again.
Sex and the City 2 makes Phyllis Schlafly look like Andrea Dworkin. Or that super-masculine version of Cynthia Nixon that Cynthia Nixon dates. Or, like, Ralph Nader (wait, bad example—Schlafly totally does look like Ralph Nader in a granny wig). SATC2 takes everything that I hold dear as a woman and as a human—working hard, contributing to society, not being an entitled cunt like it’s my job—and rapes it to death with a stiletto that costs more than my car. It is 146 minutes long, which means that I entered the theater in the bloom of youth and emerged with a family of field mice living in my long, white mustache. This is an entirely inappropriate length for what is essentially a home video of gay men playing with giant Barbie dolls. But I digress. Let us start with the “plot”…
At sexism’s funeral (which takes place in a mysterious, incense-shrouded chamber of international sisterhood), the women of Abu Dhabi remove their black robes and veils to reveal—this is not a joke—the same hideous, disposable, criminally expensive shreds of cloth and feathers that hang from Carrie et al.’s emaciated goblin shoulders. Muslim women: Under those craaaaaaay-zy robes, they’re just as vapid and obsessed with physical beauty and meaningless material concerns as us! Feminism! Fuck yeah!
If this is what modern womanhood means, then just fucking veil me and sew up all my holes. Good night.
Good night.
16 Comments
Roger Ebert tore it apart too.
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100525/REVIEWS/100529986
This was a brilliant review. Thank you for pointing me toward it. I’m going to try to work the phrase “Goblin Shoulders” into a phrase this weekend.
Of the women outraged by star parties and rainbow parties, I’m sure that some subset go and see SATC2.
“This is an entirely inappropriate length for what is essentially a home video of gay men playing with giant Barbie dolls.”
That’s the best one line summation of SATC2 I’ve read. It seems the movie is spawning a shitload of reviews that must be far more entertaining than the movie itself.
The review you link actually looks to be written by a guy named “Lindy West”.
Whoops! Make that woman named “Lindy West”.
I hated the movie. The series and the first film were great. But this film was lame, often dull, with flat jokes and useless lines of dialogue. The theme seemed to be about the terrible twos-Carrie and Big’s second anniversary, stress in the marriage causes Big to want to spend two days apart a week, their marriage vows were about the “two” of them; Charlotte has two kids and the two yr old screams constantly. Except that it became the terrible second movie for “S&C”. There were no other “two” plots for Samantha and Miranda. Miranda quits her job instead of dealing with her sexist boss (I think in the series Miranda would have fought him), then spends the rest of the movie without a story line saying many dumb things. Samantha deals with menopause. Then the awful musical numbers-I guess every movie now must be a musical. There’s Liza Minnelli dancing and singing at a wedding after performing the ceremony (yawn); then our ladies while in Abu Dhabi sing at a night club karaoke act “I am Woman”-Helen Reddy’s song from 1972 ish-why that song and why so lame? Almost all scenes fall flat. But then the clothes-remember how fashionable the clothes were even when Carrie wore odd combinations? Now they are so ugly, like bad thrift store garments thrown together. Joseph and his coat of many colors theme ran the gamut from skirts to dresses to caftans to voluminous pants. Hardly anything stylish or that made sense. Hot pink pants to ride a camel? And those of us who loved the show, loved the fashions and looked forward to what would be showcased each week there was nothing fashionable here. A real big “Second” disappointment.
Speaking of SJP, have you seen this?
I know it’s mean, but I love the setup.
And thank you for the review. I think you’re the only person in the MM.com audience to see it.
All men desire a blogger penis.
Yes, I want desperately to be “hung like a blogger”.
My wife drags me to Pampered Chef and scented candle parties. Life would be so much better if she took me to Star parties instead. I hate my life.
I don’t even get to go to candle parties.
Is a candle party where one guy lays in the middle of a group of females, completely erect, only to have them take turns putting a wick down his urethra and lighting fire to it?
Is there a Star Party Finder App? I’m in Chatanooga with a few hours to kill.
Is it true that Pat Elkins is hosting star parties in Ypsi?
I heard that last weekend’s Jamboree in Ypsi turned into one of these.