I got a legal notice in the mail from Home Box Office Inc., a division of Time Warner International. As a jerkoff with a web site nobody reads, I am required by law to discuss their television show Girls, broadcast on Sunday nights. I hadn’t seen it. But I’d read about it. Girls Girls Girls all the god damn time, feminist sites, the Man-O-Sphere, the New York Motherfucking Times. Nothing is happening on this planet except Girls. We got a show now where losers get drunk and fuck, just like you. How are you not watching.
It’s racist because there are no black people, said the left. It’s bullshit because no one would fuck a fat chick, said the antifeminists. It sucks because everybody in it is somebody famous’ daughter, said people who think that photographing dioramas of fucking Barbies makes you Brad Pitt. Or that anyone remembers who the drummer from Bad Company was, or had even noticed they had drumming. You remember that one song they had about cowboys or some shit. Man, the snare in that. That one time he hit the high hat. Chills.
But it’s also honest and raw and real, etc. So it’s either a revelatory pearl of mind-shattering dramatic truth or the most self indulgent hunk of shit the world has ever seen and has set the civil rights movement back 50 years.
In reality, it’s a trifle. It’s nothing. The episodes feel seven minutes long and you don’t laugh. But you do raise an eyebrow when you see women actually behaving on TV the way any man who has ever had intercourse knows they behave. The Girls fuck assholes who are famous or who stick out in some other obnoxious way, just like real life. And this is revelatory, for television, but only because television is generally so out of touch with the truth. You see a hint of it and you’re stunned.
She did coke in the one I saw. She did coke and then showed her tits. I’m told she shows tits every episode. People are upset by it. In fact, a gentleman I was watching with was vocally appalled that she would show her disgusting naked body. Well, I would plug Lena Dunham’s spicy smelling twat for hours and hours and hours, and I think her little taco titties are cute as fuck. People need to understand that the hottest fucks in the world are people on the borders of your “would you” range. The chubby 6’s, if you believe in describing people as numbers. Lena Dunham looks like the girl you pick up at an afterhours club when the girl you were hoping to get with went home, and you have 48 hours of filthy gutter sex where you’re asking if she’s on the pill and she says no and you say good, I’m gonna give you a baby to this stranger whose name you don’t remember, and it makes her cum. Lena Dunham is a girl you roll around with in sweaty hangovers for days and she pisses with the door open and it gives you a weird hard on. Her panties are a little bigger than the rest of the ones in your jack drawer but they’re still the first ones you reach for and sniff when you’re beating the meat on that six hour coke comedown. Put that quote between some laurels and print it on the DVD box.
She got a deal for an ebook, from some establishment type. The joke is it will never amount to anything, I guess. No one’s really gonna give you any money for your stupid writing, is what Rod Serling should have walked into frame and said directly to me personally. You’re supposed to laugh because you feel superior to Hannah Horvath, but I am precisely as stupid as Hannah Horvath.
There was another episode I missed, where she fucks Patrick Wilson, who’s playing a doctor. I’m going to assume it’s the same doctor character from his cancelled CBS show where he helps poor people by communicating with his wife’s ghost. He got so sick of his wife’s moralistic needling from beyond the grave that he decided to make her watch while he sprayed a load on a chubby girl’s taco tits. If that’s not the case, don’t tell me. My version is better. But also: people bitched because a model-handsome doctor would never fuck someone who looked like her and blah blah blah. Let me tip you off to something: when a 23 year old girl says “wanna fuck, ” all men everywhere say yes, you idiot.
Meanwhile another character, a guy, went with Hannah’s crazy ex boyfriend to return a lost dog in Staten Island and also had to grapple with the fact that he’s an aging loser with no plan in life. I was at Astrid’s watching this; it was my birthday party the night before and I had drunk about thirty alcoholic beverages and taken cocaine, morphine, hydrocodone and ritalin. The guy was about to weep at what a shambles his life was in, at 33 with a shit job. I am 37 with no job. They left him on the shore of Staten Island looking out at the water like 400 Blows, seeing boats against the current borne back ceaselessly into the past. All this waste, all this chasing trivial shit– you are throwing yourself away and some day it will destroy you, they were saying. And they meant it, it wasn’t some tongue in cheek jerkoff. The music swelled and that’s when it hit me: the drugs were wearing off and I could finally get hard and fuck Astrid again. I turned off the TV.
In conclusion: three and a half stars.