Worst sex ever

The title is slightly misleading, but you will admit that it is highly attention-grabbing. With a bit of luck, by the end of this tale you will understand the relevance.

Before I commence my divulsion of this marvellous tale, one that will amaze you like none that you have read before it, it is necessary that I give you some background information, an insight into my daily life that will be central to our story, though in a quite small way.

**The Preamble**

Karen and I maintain a collection of approximately twenty VHS video cassettes, purchased blank, which form our Dynamic Video Collection. They are labelled with small stickers containing a unique identifier (rather than adopting an overly complicated system, we decided that numbering them from 1 to 20 would probably be sufficient for our needs). Accompanying these number tapes is a narrow notebook. Each tape has a corresponding page in the book, which is used to record the name of the film(s) currently recorded on that tape. In the event that we like a film enough to keep it, the numbered sticker is removed from the tape, and replaced by a label containing the film title. This number will remain unallocated until the next shopping trip. You can probably see how the entire system results in hitherto unexperienced quantities of Pure Awesome.

**The Actual Story: Prologue**

On Wednesday, I think it was Wednesday, I was reading the back page of the newspaper at work. Oh look, I said to no-one in particular, my favourite film is on tonight. My favourite film in the world. What film is that said someone. I said Showgirls and we all guffawed like primates.

**The Actual Story: The Actual Story**

“Would you like to watch a film, darling?” my dear lady Karen asked me on Sunday afternoon.

“In a second, my love, my loaf, I am currently checking how my stocks are doing on the Internet, my love.” I replied.

“Smashing.” she said.

Not long after that I was downstairs, leafing through the book of films.

“Panic Room?” I said with gusto.

“Oooh, Panic Room” she said.

“Tape 1 then.” I said.

And she said “Oh. Were you actually enthusing, or just giving me the list?”

I said, “I’m just intending to read out all the titles with gusto, rather than drably reciting them to you as a dull monotone spectacular.”

I proceeded to read out all the titles with gusto. And then I got to the page corresponding to tape 13. I suppose we could call it page 13, though it probably isn’t precisely the 13th page, partly because nobody really has a standard definition as far as page numbering goes. Is the cover page 1? Or page 0? Or page -1?

“Holy fuck!” I said, or something like it. “Showgirls!”

Well, apparently I had actually set the tape for it, but I think I was just following instructions and hadn’t actually been told what I was recording.

“Is it good?” she said.

“Is it good?” I repeated back to her, in that way that people do when they are really winding up for a heartfelt enthuse.

“Not really” I said, “but it is the sort of film that you have to see. It’s essential.”

So we watched it.

Oh boy, what a film. The boobie count is magical. Some of the boobies are really nice, but I don’t fancy Elizabeth Berkeley’s much though. Had to watch the pool scene twice though. That moment where she falls backwards and flops around like a live fish on a chopping board just paralyses me with the giggles.

This is a real no-holds-barred classic. If there was an opportunity to put some obvious titillating moment in, the makers really went for it. Missed by a mile, of course. The fish-on-chopping-board scene is capable of undermining even the most “hardened” of viewers, if you get my drift.

So, in conclusion, lots of tits, zero plot, totally unarousing. The only entertainment value comes from the hilarity of watching such drivel.

Still, it’s essential viewing.

*Originally posted here*

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