I seldom hear popular music these days, at least not since I tuned my alarm clock to a different radio station several months ago. I had been waking up to Radio 2, but could no longer be subjected to the music of Take That, which as it happens, is inexplicably popular amongst Radio 2’s core demographic of generic people. The final straw came when, one day, I was awoken by the offensive sounds of a Take That sound-alike band. Chris Evans, who had once entertained loutish men as the somewhat mean-spirited presenter of TFI Fridays, but is now masquerading as an inoffensive cheeky chappy on morning radio, introduced the song.
MTV has been responsible for some of the greatest television of the last decade, producing such hit shows as Jersey Shore, Date My Mom, Downtown Girls, and MTV’s most recent success story, Aaron Carter’s Flaccid Jungle, in which the “Crazy Little Party Girl” singer has to navigate his way around a maze of windmilling naked men.
If you’ve ever plunged the depths of a bargain bin filled with DVDs then it’s likely that you’ve seen the cover of this film, buried no doubt under a pile of dozens of unsold copies of other bargain bin classics like “Carnosaur 3: Primal Species”. I swear I’ve seen these two films hundreds of times over the years, which leads me to believe that either there are a lot of these films out there or that I just keep happening to come across the same dozen or so copies that are perpetually bought and then sold back to secondhand DVD shops.
I love breasts. What’s not to like, eh? You’ve got your chest wall, you’ve got your pectoralis muscles, your lobules, nipples, the areola, you’ve got the duct, fatty tissue and you’ve got the skin — haven’t you? Perfection, right guys? You know what I’m talking about. And when I watch an embarrassingly low-budget, evidently rushed horror film, I like to see at least a couple of breasts.