You know, I never thought I'd say this, but...well, I'm a kind of tired of watching Jonathan Rhys Myers—as King Henry VIII on Showtime's The Tudors—constantly engaged in acts of tireless sex all the time. Don't get me wrong; I have always admired this show's dedication to the soft core porn sex scene--and its willingness to go all gay on everybody (though not nearly gay enough), occasionally. And I 100% approve of all of the boobs. Henry, though, started getting really irritating last season when he went off Anne Boleyn and started courting some boring young trollop named Jane Seymour.
So now season 3 starts and, if the promotional poster above is anything to go on, we'll no doubt be treated to heaps more moaning and writhing from smooth, sinewy courtiers. Lots of muscled thighs and butt shots and acrobatic heaving and thrusting. But, God help me, I just can't get excited about it anymore. That's right: I'm sick to death of watching Henry VIII's butt bob up and down. How did this happen? Is it too much of a good thing? All I know is, what I want right now is for Henry to keep is damn pantaloons on.
Thankfully I don't have Showtime, so until season 3 ends up on Netflix, I'm safe. When that time comes, I suppose I'll be forced to sit through another 12 or so hours of supple, sebaceous and, sadly, mostly straight sexual somersaults.
The study of history is grueling.
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