Tell Me You Love Me

So HBO’s latest series is supposed to be an unflinching examination of relationships, sex and therapy.

Let’s review:

1 unrealistic scene of a guy masturbating (as I told my wife: nobody actually does sit-ups while jerking off, much less while his wife is in the shower, and there’s no way we’d risk getting jizz on the good sheets)

3 pairs of boobies (total)

1 pair of spectacular boobies

3 total cock shots

2 nicely-waxed bush glances (thankfully, none of that “wish I was 12 again” shaved bullshit), with emphasis on glances

1 man-biscuit shot of some dude’s dangling sac

1 gratuitous full-view handjob followed by what some would call the “money shot” and the owner of the aforementioned spectacular tits examining the fruit of her not-too-time-consuming effort wistfully on her fingertips

1 old therapist giving Alan Alda’s doppelganger a blowjob

You’d think that laundry list of lascivious events would make the show at least remotely entertaining, right?

You’d be wrong.

The show fucking sucks.

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