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HBO's first two Cathouse series attempted to debunk the myths behind
Nevada's legal brothels (among others, that honker-hawkers are cold,
money-hungry, and doped out of their gills). So now that the specials
have struck a chord with anthropologists and folks too cheap to spring
for Cinemax's late-night wankfests, HBO has gone back into the bush,
metaphorically and literally, for a limited-run series of seven
episodes. The problem? While the working girls and the Lunchpail
Johnnys/Janes who patronize them are interesting enough to sustain an
occasional hour-long special, they become astoni****ngly grating and
unattractive in larger doses. As a result, Cathouse: The Series
ultimately renders a titillating subject drab and lifeless.
Handy press quote:
"Me-ow! These kittens have claws!"
=97StuffMagazine.com
New game:
Whether or not their combined IQ soars into the upper double-digits, the
Cathouse gals sure have a talent for dreaming up "professional" names.
There's Air Force Amy (we're guessing this has something to do with her
"bombers"), Sun****ne Lane (carpools allowed, even encouraged), Vandalia
(a goth, slimy Madonna alter ego?), and Caressa Kisses (who, in between
clips of ****d trampolining, describes herself as "a fictional yet
****able character").
Tantalizing tidbit:
Moonlite Bunny Ranch proprietor Dennis Hof on the ***ual particularities
of the male species: "If it moves and it's warm, we want it. We want to
have *** with it. Sometimes, it doesn't have to move." Or was that
Winston Churchill who said it? Same difference.
(A bunch of Mongrel dogs at Pedigree prices.) <v>
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