I can't get a second look from a daily paper and here's some NYC movie reviewer dipwad openly ogling Samantha Bee's boobs as she interviews him.
I have never understood how the hardest job to get in print journalism has always gone to the freakiest, least appropriate acting people in the world. I can't recall a movie reviewer I've ever met that I would consider allowing into my acquaintance circle.
And so bad around women. I had the misfortune of talking to a movie reviewer outside a preview of Star Wars episode 2 or maybe it was X2, I get all those important sci-fi adventure flicks confused, and the dude is just a big ole unkempt dude. And he goes on and on about whoever the director is's oevre and blah blah blah hot air, and blah blah blah he's so smart. And I'm pretty sure he was checking out my boobs, too, because when you're looking at the babes in fantasy RPG playstation games all day, you tend to be surprised by the diminutive size of the real thing — really, you gotta hunt for the sweater puppets. Oh my lord, shut up, I'm thinking. Shutupshutupshutup, you self-important twerp with the social skills of a garter snake.
I think Michael Medved might have been in the audience. Which, once again, proves my point.
And they're all men. I have met *one* professional female movie reviewer — she was black and wasn't too bad, personality-wise, for a movie reviewer. The thing is, though, she wasn't employed by a daily paper. She had to run her own website, which was movie reviews by a black woman for black people. I bet she knew who Tyler Perry is.
But Jesus, man, you're on camera! Get your eyes off her bits and pieces!
What, me, bitter?
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