Maybe it’s not a coincidence that Harper Lee rhymes with Robby D.
If this town had a Wicker Man, “Summer Lovin'” would have been a way better movie.
Watching “Trashy,” an unapologetically fantastic piece of porn featuring delightfully modified harlots having sex in uncomfortable places, I realized that the recent trend of comparatively wholesome porn—women in sunlit bedrooms peeling off their boyfriends’ t-shirts and kicking off their sneakers to fuck on a comforter—is still just a fetish.
In an attempt to please her inappropriately sexualized father, a woman is initiated into a dangerous business while in a questionable state of mind by two masked men who have sex with her. Perhaps “Batgirl XXX” is a metaphor for porn in general.
Who’d think we’d ever find something in our lifetimes to make the “Roseanne” and “Flintstones” parodies look good?
Points added that the Fonz shows up? Yes. And that he makes a Jump the Shark reference? Sure. But to what end?
If you wonder how porn movies that are less-than-slam dunks make money, join the club.
What do you really know about the professions of thuggery and mind control? Maybe those people naturally have sex all the time.
I look at two versions of “Sex World” shot 30 years apart.
Brad Armstrong learns the value of fucking women his own age by enjoying the living shit out fucking women half his age. This is what anthropologists call a Fake Brag.
“They’re stunning and sensational, sexy and insatiable/You’ll watch them all the time,” goes the theme song for “The Flintstones: A XXX Parody.” But will I watch them all the time?
Jay Ashley’s Sal reminds me of the unkempt line art guy in Alex Comfort’s “The Joy of Sex.”
It is fitting that this movie opened with a scene of disco-era club dudes cutting lines of cocaine.