Not enough prostate milking
Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is a great movie, don’t get me wrong. It deserved every Oscar that came its way. But upon walking out of the theatre, I felt empty. Something felt unresolved, but I just couldn’t put my finger in it. I looked deep into myself to try to find what was missing, and I saw the steamy sight that could fill the hole in my soul:
Spider-prostate milking.
I mean, C’MON. There was an undeniable sexual tension between the Nick Cage–voiced Spider-Man Noir and the man-baby of a superhero Peter B. Parker. I paid $16.99 to see a movie that doesn’t have a single spider-person wearing nothing but their mask? What is this, a PG children’s movie? They’re just going to disappear into separate dimensions and miss out on the opportunity to touch leathery, middle-aged spider-bodies? Who doesn’t want to see two Spider-Men tie each other up in their sticky, sticky webs and have some fuck? I want—no, I need—to hear Nick Cage voice a superhero having his prostate milked by a declining divorcé(e) with burger grease–covered fingies. That would get MY spider senses tingling.
We were robbed of the steamiest sex scene since Wallace & Gromit: Curse of the Were-Rabbit.