And I thought I was the only one who made THIS connection. Sartre is rolling in his grave. Is sexuality a contingent accident bound to our physiological nature, or is it a necessary structure of being-for-itself-for-others? I don’t fucking know. Scooby Doo can doo-doo, but Jimmy Carter is smarter. Just give me some pills to turn my penis into an organic bone-gun and I’ll shoot a Chinese waiter in the face. Cronenberg gives us a bizarre entendre more insightful than any existentialist gobbledy-gook ever was. Have penis, will travel. Whether it is into an Asian’s cheek or James Woods’ chest vagina, the destination is the same. Jimmy Johnson is laughing all the way to the spank-bank.
