Apparently, and very unfortunately for all of Western civilisation, the final installment of the Fifty Shades of WTFISTHISCRAP is set to be released on February 14th. I find this more than a little irritating, since this year the 14th marks the start of the Lent season.
This annoys me.
As far as I am concerned, February 14th this year marks the start of a tradition of vital importance to Christians, in which they recognise the hardships and sacrifices endured by the Lord Christ in His wanderings through the desert.
It is not supposed to be used to celebrate a completely made-up holiday invented by flower companies and greeting-card cartels to shame Beta males into buying useless and expensive crap for their high-maintenance significant others, thereby taking all of the fun and spontaneity out of romance.
And it sure as hell is not supposed to be used to release a film specifically designed to rev a female viewer's hamster into overdrive.
All of that being said- it turns out that there is, in fact, a male equivalent of Fifty Shades out there. And of course, it falls to the hosts of (what used to be) THE GREATEST TV SHOW OF ALL TIME to explain what that is:
I have to admit, I'm partial to the odd bit of tractor-pulling of that sort myself. Of course, my version of it involves going to a motor show and looking at all of the hypercar porn that is scattered across the convention centre floor.
You could stand any surgically enhanced model, porn star, or hot Russian girl you care to name in a bikini three sizes too small for her next to a display model of, say, the LaFerrari or the Bugatti Chiron, and I would very likely be the one telling her to get the hell out of the way because her bumpers are obscuring the car's bumpers.
(Obviously I am being hyperbolic. No man in his right mind would pick a drive in a supercar over sex with a really hot girl. That said- depending on the specific make and model, the car would likely give better mileage, provide a much more enjoyable ride, and make a much more exciting noise.)