Movie Review – The Mule (2018)

Go ahead.  Make my day.  But slowly.  Because I’m old.

BQB here with a review of Clint Eastwood’s “The Mule.”  (SPOILERS).

I must admit, 3.5 readers, when I first saw the trailer for this movie, I assumed it would be a ripoff of “Breaking Bad.”  Similar to Bryan Cranston’s Walter White, Clint’s Earl Stone is presented in the preview as an old man who has lived a shitty life and now, with little to lose in his declining years, decides to say, “Fuck it” and get into the drug game to make some fast, sweet, sticky cash, all the danger be damned.

Despite the similarities, Earl is his own man.  He’s super old and though he has no diagnosed terminal illness, he’s in his nineties and therefore likely to croak if a cool breeze hits him the wrong way.  He’s no mastermind genius like Walter.  He’s just an old man who lost his job and finds another one.

Though I’m one of Clint’s biggest fans, I have to admit the premise is thinner than his present day hair and it saddens me as with some tweaks to the haphazard plot, it could have been as lush as his 1970s “Dirty Harry” mane.

Honestly, the first twenty minutes of the film feel less like an Eastwood movie of old and instead, more like a glorified Lifetime Channel for Women movie, you know, the one that your Grandma watches to feel hip and young without having to be bogged down with anything that makes sense.

Earl is a horticulturalist.  For many years, he chose the road over his own family, missing birthdays, graduations, weddings, funerals, anniversaries and so on to drive across America in his old, beaten up pick-up truck just so he could put his latest rare flower on display and socialize with his fellow green thumbs.

I know.  WTF, right?  Not to give away a spoiler, but in the first few minutes, Earl, already having been divorced from wife, Mary (Dianne West), is finally ostracized from the family for good when he chooses yet another flower show over the wedding of his daughter, Iris (played by Clint’s real life daughter, Alison.)

SPOILER ALERT (in fact, spoilers abound in this review so look away): As I watched Clint at the flower show, buying drinks for his flower growing friends, a sad look on his face like he knew he was doing wrong for picking horticulture over his child, I called bullshit. Just absolute bullshit.

But then I thought about it.  The man needs a reason why he was estranged from his family.  And I suppose if he’d been a workaholic stockbroker or a lawyer or businessman, that would have been already done before, not to mention, he’d have no need to do illegal deeds for money.

FYI that’s how he becomes a mule.  Oddly enough, though his granddaughter, Ginny (Taissa Farmiga, sister of Vera) throws a pre-wedding party.  Clint attends, is kicked out by mom and grandma.  Though granddaughter still loves him and shows no signs other than that she is a solid, upstanding young woman, for some reason that can only be describes as bad writing, there’s a shady drug cartel associate in the wedding party who sees Earl is down on his luck after his flower farm is foreclosed on and introduces him into the world of mulery.

At this point, I start to get it.  You have to bend over backwards to get it.  The movie’s writing style starts out as “tell, don’t show” with characters dumping key plot points in dialogue and eventually moves to “Stand on your head and twist around three times to get it.”

You see, it was never about the flower shows.  Earl just sucked as a human.  He was selfish.  No, he wasn’t out cheating on his wife or anything like that.  He was just stuck in his own head.  He loved driving in his truck.  He loved meeting and talking to people.  He loved going to parties and having fun and being the center of attention in his little flower world.  He lacked the emotional capacity to handle it when life got real, to not be around a wife and kid with needs and feelings.  He regrets not being a good dad and husband, but lacked the fortitude to be one.

Muling is his second chance to renew that cross-country traveling lifestyle.  He meets “the boys” i.e. oddly kind and chatty drug cartel chop shop operators who joke around and talk Earl’s ear off as they stuff his new and improved truck (a Lincoln that is the real star of the movie) full of cocaine.  He then drives off into adventure, stopping at roadside stops to meet new, interesting folks, often risking blowing the whole operation just for the chance to make a new friend.

Alas, the job starts to suck when the stakes get higher and higher.  You ever have a job that started out great and then one day, you get a new boss and you’re told you’re being watched and the slightest fuck-up will be punished with extreme prejudice?  Yes, another spoiler but suffice to say, eventually being a mule stops being fun when oddly kind drug cartel boss Andy Garcia is taken out in a coup and replaced by hardasses who have no patience for Earl’s desire to stop along his route to help strangers with flat tires or to find the world’s best pulled pork sandwich.

SJWs and the politically incorrect alike will find reasons to cheer, maybe even come together.  Earl openly tells off-color jokes and uses centuries old slurs in routine conversation.  You’re torn between being grossed out and wondering if maybe an old man who doesn’t know any better really needs to kicked completely out of society if he truly didn’t mean any harm and didn’t understand how times have changed.

Meanwhile, Earl takes full advantage of his elderly white privilege, moving mass quantities of Columbian nose candy to and fro with reckless abandon, sent merrily on his way by unsuspecting cops who simply assume they’re in the presence of a doddering old fart while the aforementioned cops then immediately turn around and run Earl’s younger Hispanic associates up the river if they so much as make a funny look.

Bradley Cooper and Lawrence Fishburne round out a star studded cast, but honestly, I can’t say it enough.  The writing blows goats and really, the only reason to stick through it is to watch an old man down on his luck suddenly fall into a world where he can make mad cash, bang hot hookers, and not give a shit about jail or STDs because fuck it, he’s 90.  Not gonna lie.  It wouldn’t surprise me if Clint just slapped this flick together just so he could charge off scenes with hot young babes on the studio’s dime.

STATUS:  Shelf-worthy, only because it’s Clint.  At times, you see a little glint in Clint’s eye, such that you can just tell if it weren’t for his tired old body, the Clintster would be tearing shit up in this strange new world.  It makes some valid points.  A running joke is that Earl has to constantly fix broken things because all the young people are too busy getting on their smart phones, looking up how to fix the broken things instead of just trying to actually do it.  Point taken.  People used to get out and live life.  Now we’re living life through a screen.  The writing is epically lame.  Plot holes the size of Earl’s truck that you’d never put up with.  If you can suspend disbelief long enough, it’s nice to see Clint have fun.

 

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SJW Lyrics – Oh Average Night (Formally Oh Holy Night)

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Oh average night, the stars are brightly shining!

And the night is just normal because it isn’t holy because we will no longer be subjected to the patriarchy’s puritanically rigid belief system that forces the ignorant into modifying their behavior in accordance with the whims of a fictional man in the sky who simply isn’t there.

Fall on your knees!

But only if you want to take a rest.

But if you don’t, that’s ok.

In fact, don’t because then you’ll get grass stains on your jeans!

A night that is not divine!

No, it’s just another night as usual except is it just me or is this night hotter than usual? Damn it, when will you all learn that global warming is real, people?!

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SJW Christmas Carols – Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

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Rudolph the red nosed reindeer,

Had the unfair advantage of a shiny nose.

None of the other reindeer,

Had a very shiny nose.

All of the other reindeer,

Were made to feel bad about themselves when they gazed upon Rudolph’s shiny honker.

Knowing that someone was doing better than they were, really drove them nuts and bonkers.

Then one foggy Christmas eve, Santa came to say,

Rudolph take your nose so bright,

And get it away from the reindeer’s sight.

Then how the reindeer were happy,

And they shouted out with glee,

“Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, we’ll never be as good as you, but now we’ve dragged you down to be as bad as we!”

 

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SJW Christmas Carols – Away in a Manger

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Away in a manger, no crib for a bed (because capitalism is the worst because the wealthiest 1 percent use the unwitting 99 percent as their pawns and socialism will totally work if we just give it one more try)…

The little Lord Jesus, laid down his, her, or possible xer’s head.  Whatever.  It’s way too early to box this child into a gender and Jesus will let us know what he, she, or xe is in time.

The stars in the sky, look down where he, she, or xe or any combination thereof because gender is fluid, lay.

The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay, again, because when are we going to wake up and realize that capitalism is barbaric and only when government seizes control of all business interests will all children of indeterminate gender be allowed to sleep in the proper cribs they deserve.

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What Can Shaun of the Dead Teach Us About Leadership and Growing Up?

Hey 3.5 readers.

Your old pal BQB here.

It’s funny how you can watch a movie when you’re young and when you’re older and get a different experience.  When I saw this movie when I was young, I thought it was a funny spoof on zombie flicks.  Now that I’m older, it’s still that, but much more.

Shaun (Simon Pegg) is 29, approaching 30 and is seen by everyone, even himself, as a big loser.  He’s a clerk at an electronics store and his teenage employees laugh at him.  His step-father has zero respect for him.  His flat mate thinks his buddy, Ed, (Nick Frost) is dragging him down.

Worse, his girlfriend, Liz (Kate Ashfield) feels she’s wasting her life dating Shaun.  She yearns for a better life and is tired of going on the same date to Shaun’s favorite dive bar, the Winchester.  When Shaun fails an ultimatum to take her anywhere else by forgetting to make a reservation at a fancy restaurant, she calls it quits.

Like a zombie, Shaun is shuffling through life, allowing life to live him instead of vice versa.  Rather than create a plan and work and through, he takes what he gets and dulls the pain with booze and hanging out with Ed.

Now, here’s where it gets complicated.  I think an argument can be made that Shaun is actually the only respectable one in the entire film.

Sometimes excellence doesn’t come from within but from opportunity.  Without the Civil War, Abe Lincoln might have been a mediocre president.  Though I’m not comparing Shaun to the Great Emancipator, we see Shaun kick ass and take names in the zombie apocalypse.

Here’s the thing. As a society, we’ve become programmed to think that success=perfection.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Success comes from showing up.

Shaun takes charge of a group of survivors comprised of his friends and family.  Everyone follows Shaun but as he makes mistakes, they don’t give him any leeway.  His stepdad repeatedly dumps on him.  Liz’s friend Dave routinely craps on him.

This is a show don’t tell thing.  What I noticed is that at no time do any of the naysayers stand up and take control of the group.  They all want to complain but none of them actually vocalize anything they’d do better.  No one tells Shaun to stand down so they can take charge.  This unfortunately happens a lot in life. People are happy to dump on the decision makers but they don’t want to make decisions themselves.

Call Shaun a loser, but a he always showed up.  He showed up every day to a job he hated.  He kept caring for friend Ed even though everyone told him to cut him loose.  He kept dating Liz even though she complains Shaun is holding her back, as if Shaun is somehow keeping her from going to school, seeking a new job, going on a vacation or doing something to improve her life.

All we can do is show up.  Maybe we’ll be lucky.  Maybe we won’t.  But we only fail when we stop showing up.

We don’t get too see too far into Shaun and Liz’s future, other than at the end of the movie (spoiler alert) they’re happy and Shaun acts like a man who is a bit more sure of himself.  Does he get a better job or always remember to make dinner reservations, I don’t know.  But he shows up.

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In Case You Missed It – Stuff You Shouldn’t Buy Your Girlfriend for Christmas

Hey 3.5 readers.  I know, if you are reading this blog you are probably single but if you ever do get a girlfriend, here is some stuff you should not buy her for Christmas.

Female readers, let me know if I am right.  Do you want any of this stuff for Christmas?

 

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Check Out Lee Hall’s The Teleporter

Hey 3.5 readers.  Please cast all 7 of your eyes on Lee Hall’s “The Teleporter” on Amazon:

Full disclosure, Lee wrote a nice review of the first episode of my series, “The Last Driver,” so I’m trying to return the favor here.  That being said, a book about a drunk with the power to teleport sounds like a funny premise to me.  I’m sober myself, but I’d love the power to teleport.  Wouldn’t it be great to go wherever you want, whenever you want and not have to get on a plane or get bogged down with all the traveling and pay all that money on plane tickets and so forth?

Check it out today and if you like it, give our British buddy a nice review!

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Is Comedy Dying? – Kevin Hart Out as Oscars Host

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

I weep for the future of comedy.

Several years ago, comedian Kevin Hart wrote a tweet, the gist of which was if he ever saw his son playing with his daughter’s doll house, he’d shout, “That’s gay!” and then break the doll house over the boy’s head.

My two cents?  Comedy is like gymnastics.  Imagine yourself as one of those tiny Russian gymnasts at the Olympics.  You could push yourself to leap in the air, do seven airborne backflips and land into a rolling somersault.  Maybe you’ll pull it off and get the gold and the accolades, or you might mess up a complicated move and end up with a broken foot.

Similarly, comedy can be hit or miss.  If you’re going to break taboos and push lines, the joke should be outstandingly funny, so humorous that it brings a begrudging smile to the face of even the most dour of school-marmish scolds.  Otherwise, the risk that you just end up looking like an asshat instead of a clever joke-smith is too great.

This joke was only so-so.  People need to grasp the context.  The joke isn’t on the son, it’s on the father.  Hart was making fun of his own sense of manliness, his own insecurities, his own insane fears that the slightest showing of a softer side can turn someone homosexual.

Imagine if this joke hadn’t been in a tweet but rather a sitcom.  Kevin is a typical dumb sitcom dad.  He comes home from work, sees his son playing with his daughter’s dollhouse.  Close up on a freaked out look on Kevin’s face.  Close up on Kevin as he looks off in the distance, imagining what this could lead to.  Cut to grown up son performing as a drag queen, accepting “Best Drag Queen of the Year Award,” and he says, “Thanks for the doll house, Dad!”

Cut to Kevin freaking out and like the Incredible Hulk, he smashes the house into a thousand pieces.  The daughter cries.  The son says, “Dad, what the hell, man?  I was pretending that doll house was Cobra Commander’s secret base and I was attacking it with my GI Joes!” (or whatever today’s equivalent toy is.)

Enter mom, livid that she has married such a buffoon.  Cut to Kevin staying up all night gluing all the pieces of the doll house back together.

I don’t know.  I get some of the backlash to the tweet.  It wasn’t the best joke and it comes across as mean spirited to gay people.  As a society, we’re trying to get parents to accept their kids as they are instead of trying to mold them into something they don’t want to or can’t be.

But at any rate, I think Kevin was just making fun of himself.

I’ve never thought Kevin was a great comedian or a terrible comedian.  He was somewhere in the middle.  He plugs along.  A ham and egger.  But one thing I give him credit for is he is one of the few comedians left who TRIES to be funny.  He tries to think up funny situations for his acts and movies and rarely delves into politics but rather is into the humor for humor’s sake.

Meanwhile, and look I don’t care if you love Trump or hate Trump, but mainstream comedy has basically gone from actual comedy to this oddball world of people just standing up, saying something to the effect of, “Orange man bad!” and then cue the canned audience laugh track.

On top of that, why is Kevin being singled out?  Alec Baldwin was arrested and he’s still on SNL. Jimmy Kimmel once appeared in blackface.  He was still allowed to host the Oscars.  Sarah Silverman once appeared in blackface.  She’s still allowed to do voices in Disney movies.  Overall, I’ve enjoyed Family Guy and have looked at Seth MacFarlane as an example of someone who made it in Hollywood by sticking to it and pushing himself, but there have been some times where I’ve watched that show and been like, “Wow, this is going way too far” and then I’d change the channel.  And he was allowed to host.

I don’t know.  Just seems like there should be one standard.  Why are we combing JUST through Kevin Hart’s past?  Either the rule is that anyone who hosts the Oscars must be as clean as a whistle, or some past transgressions are ok as long as they aren’t doing it now….but to hold Kevin Hart to one standard and others to another is lame.

Oh well.  Who cares?  No one watches the Oscars anyway.

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TV Review – House of Cards – Season 6

As they say in Gaffney, all good things come to an end.

BQB here with a review of “House of Cards.”

You know, 3.5 readers.  There ought to be a rule.  Call it “The Spacey Rule.”  If you’re an actor about to take a role in a compelling TV series that hinges on that role, you should not have allegations of pervery against you.

Spacey’s character, Francis Underwood, a ruthless, cunning politician who bargained, bribed, bought, cajoled, sweet talked, murdered, screwed (literally and figuratively) and worse, convinced many of his victims to do themselves in, was crucial to the series.

Indeed, Claire (Robin Wright Penn) was his partner-in-crime and before Spacey’s alleged pervery was made public, it looked like the show was heading toward an eventual showdown where the President and First Lady would duke it out.

Thus, the writers were boxed in with this last season.  No season without Francis was going to feel satisfying and yet, to not provide some kind of ending would be a letdown as well.

At the beginning of this final season, Claire is in the first 100 days of her presidency.  Diane Lane and Greg Kinnear play a brother/sister team of wealthy business moguls who apparently were bankrolling the Underwoods and expecting favors in return, though this is the first we’ve heard of them.

Francis is dead, ostensibly due to an overdose of prescription medication, though true accidents without someone at fault rarely, if ever, happen on this show, unless some sort of nefarious evildoer wants it to seem that way.

Claire has learned the art of underhanded politics from the master himself and now free of her husband, she wants to make one last series of weaselly doings to secure her power, push out her enemies and, one might assume, make the world a better place?

Her foil is Doug Stamper, Francis’ longtime henchman.  Claire wants to throw Francis’ reputation under the bus to save herself.  Doug wants to save Francis’ legacy.

Claire, the bro/sis team and Doug go all in on a battle royale and indeed, there is a victor but I won’t spoil it for you.

Suffice to say, imagine if you were invited to a fancy dinner at a friend’s house.  You were promised that if you work your way through five courses, each more tasty than the last, you’d eventually get to that final sixth course that would make your toes curl and your taste buds scream out in orgasmic delight.

Then, alas, your friend comes out and says, “Hey, I’m so sorry, my head chef just got fired due to allegations of pervery so I’m not able to serve you that sixth course you long waited for but hey, here is a tasty bag of Funions.”

Sure, you’ll eat the Funions.  You’ll enjoy the Funions but…you’ll always wish that head chef had kept it in his pants so he could have stuck around to make that final filet mignon.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy.  The writers made the best out of a bad situation and ultimately, Spacey is the one to blame but it’s hard not to think about how satisfying a final Francis-centric season would have been and sigh a sad, defeated sigh.

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside – Super Politically Correct Modern Version

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HER: I really can’t stay.

HIM: That’s cool, you’re free to leave at anytime.  You’re a strong, independent woman in charge of your own agency, capable of making her own decisions and if remaining here is not your wish then I bid you adieu.

HER: I’ve got to go away.

HIM: No problem.  There’s the door.  Right there.  Good evening.  Drive safely.

HER: This evening has been…

HIM: I’m sorry, but I see you’re lingering.  Would you mind signing this memorandum indicating that you remained on the premises even though I distinctly said you were free to leave and I in no way impeded your exit?

HER: …so very nice.

HIM:  Don’t mind me.  I’m just going pull out my phone so I can stream us on Facebook live and, ok, here we are.  Hello, everyone.  Shout out to all my followers.  I just want to show the world that I’m being a total gentleman and I am not keeping this strong, independent woman from leaving.  See?  Right there’s the door.  Nothing is blocking it.  I’m all the way over here.  She’s free to go whenever she chooses.

HER: I ought to say, “No, no, no, sir!”

HIM: You have and I respect that.  Just a reminder you are more than welcome to walk out the front door and I will not interfere in any way.

HER: At least I’m going to say that I tried.

HIM: Yes, and as loudly as possible I am telling all 257 of my Facebook friends that I am trying to make sure that you are aware you are free to vamoose.

HER: My mother will start to worry.

HIM: Hold on, I’m going to get on my landline because I’m one of the last few people ot have one of those and I’m calling your mom and, “Hello Her’s Mother how are you? Him here.  Say, just wanted to clue you in on the situation. Her is fine. Totes fine. She’s here. I’m being totally respectful and I would never keep her here against her will.”

HER: My father will be pacing the floor.

HIM: You know, it dawns on me that maybe you aren’t leaving because you don’t have cab fare.  Now, please don’t take that the wrong way. I understand you are a very powerful, strong, independent woman who earns her own living and doesn’t need a man to pay her way but please, my treat, let me call you an Uber on my account and we’ll have the driver take you home or anywhere you want to go.  By the way, I will also pay a private detective to run a full background check on the driver and I will hire two armed guards to accompany you in case anyone tries to touch you during your ride.

HER: My sister will be suspicious.

HIM: Nope, she’s fine.  Hi, sis!  Thanks for friending me.  See?  Your sister’s A-OK. Hey I’m just going to step outside myself and I don’t even care if there’s 6 feet snowdrifts out here I’m just going to step out here on the front porch and, ah, that’s better! There we go! Now you’re safe in the house, and I’m out here so as to avoid the appearance of impropriety.  No one can say anything unsavory happened if you’re in there and I’m out here.  See that, Facebook? Everything’s totally legit.

HER: My brother will be pacing the floor.

HIM: I’m just going to send my carrier pigeon to your brother with a note in his beak informing him that you’re fine and if he or any of your other family or friends would like to come over and verify that you’re OK, they are welcome to come here and do so.  Away you go, pigeon! In the meantime, I will keep speaking to you through the open door but I will remain outside in these arctic conditions so that you remain safe.

HER: Your welcome has been…

HIM: Oh thank god, it’s a police officer out on patrol! Officer!  Yoo hoo!  Would you be a pal and stand next to me to verify that I am not doing anything to harm this strong, independent female and Her, just an FYI if you feel unsafe I’m sure this officer would be willing to escort you past me just, again, to be on the safe side.  You can never be too careful.

HER: …so nice and warm.

HIM:  Shit!  She won’t leave.  Let me get on the phone again.  Hello?  Ajax Public Relations Firm?  Look, there’s going to be a huge story about me tomorrow and we need to get ahead of it ASAP.  Cancel all your business. I’m putting you on retainer because it is going to be blasted all over the inter webs and I’ll need your full staff ready and waiting to field press inquiries 24/7. I want to tell you right up front I did not lay a hand on this strong, powerful woman and in fact, I streamed our entire evening on Facebook from outside the house while a police officer was present and what?  Well…no, of course I’m not calling her a liar!  I’m not saying that tomorrow, she might believe that something bad might have happened, I’m just saying that I will not be the culprit.  What?  What do you mean that’s as good as calling her a liar?  No, I don’t believe all women lie.  Yes, I believe all women…

HER: So really I’d better scurry.

HIM: Officer, if you’d be so kind as to handcuff me and yes, there we go.  My hands are now restrained behind my back.  Officer, if you wouldn’t mind to use my phone to keep the Facebook stream going.  Wait, let me shout to my neighbors.  NEIGHBORS! COME OUT AND BE MY WITNESSES, PLEASE!

HER: But maybe just a half a drink more.

HIM:  Oh no.  There’s no alcohol here, ma’am.  I’m not implying that you, as a woman, would somehow be prone to abusing alcohol or that women should not feel free to imbibe, I’m just saying I do not keep alcohol in the house so as to prevent a situation where a woman might become inebriated because then she would be in a state where she could be taken advantage of.  You are welcome to get some tap water but please keep your hand over your drink at all times as you never know when someone might slip a mickey into it.

HER: My maiden aunt’s mind is vicious.

HIM: That’s fine.  See? My neighbors came outside so I have over a dozen witnesses on the scene who can testify I did no wrong here.

HER: But maybe just a cigarette more.

HIM: I’m sorry, there’s no smoking allowed here.  By the way, it just dawned on me that maybe you are not leaving because you fear reprisal if you do.  Please rest assured that no harm will come to you, should you decide to leave.  There will be no harm done to you at any time in the future, whatsoever.  I will not say anything bad about your reputation and we don’t work in the same field so I have no power to get you blacklisted or drummed out of your profession and you know what?  I’ll put this in writing.  Let me just write this down.  OK.  Here’s a fully binding legal document indicating you are free to leave and there will be no repercussions for doing so and I will not interfere with your livelihood if you go and hey?  Isn’t one of my neighbors a notary?  Fred, you’re a notary, right?  Cool.  Fred just notarized this.

HER: You’ve really been grand…

HIM: By the way, just now, I wrote that all behind my back.  I trained on how to write while handcuffed just for occasions like these.  Her, it now dawns on me maybe you’re not leaving because you think you want to engage in voluntary sexual congress with me right now but perhaps thirty to forty years in the future you will regret having sex with me and will consider the act a violation of your person.  It just so happens, one of my neighbors is a fortune teller so I’m just going to let her…

MADAME OLGA: By the light of the full moon, I gaze my eyes upon the wonders of my crystal ball and I look forward into the mists of the great beyond.  Oh spirits, tell me if sex that happens today will be appreciated or despised in four decades time.

HIM: You know what?  Cut that, Olga. I’m just going to refuse to participate in any sex at all.  You hear that, everyone?  I refuse sex.  There is absolutely no way to tell if this woman, who has gotten all naked and is lying spread eagle on my bearskin rug, licking her lips and beckoning me to come hither with her finger whilst a bright, flashing neon sign points to her vagina that says, “OPEN FOR BUSINESS!” Yes, to the untrained eye, it looks like this strong, independent woman desires sex but there’s no way to know for sure.  Anyone could have put that sign there.  I’ll just decline.  Fred, draw up a legal memorandum indicating my declination of any and all possible sex acts this evening.

HER: But can’t you see?  Baby it’s cold outside…

HIM: Oh my god!  She’s coming this way!  Quick, officer!  Shoot my dick off!  I beg of you! I don’t want to be declared the next sex pervert du jour on the inter webs tomorrow! Please!  Shoot my dick off!  I beg you!

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