Fifty More Pages of Pfftttt (pgs. 51-100)

Clearly I’m a masochist.

This explains why I was able to slog through nearly 50 more pages of Fifty Pffttt. The experience has been…what’s the word I’m looking for…twaddle waddle? Sure, that seems about right.

If you missed my first installment, click here. I don’t have the strength to rehash the beginning. The only thing I can tell you is that “crap” is a noun, verb and adjective. You are now caught up. Holy crap on a biscuit!

So let’s continue…

Christian Grey had just told Ana Banana that he is not the man for her, and her subconscious thinks Crap show. She receives a package in the mail. It’s a bunch of old Teen Beat magazines. It comes with this note:

She deduces it’s from Christian. She sends her subconscious a note asking if Christian likes her. Check the yes or no box. Her subconscious writes back Fuck you.

She tries to get him out of her mind by drinking herself unconscious at a bar. That sounds so good right now.

She ends up drunk dialing him.

Christian’s all pissed and demands she divulge her location. “Crap stick,” she mutters and hangs up. Christian arrives just when her male friend Jose tries to eat her chin. Ana spews everywhere. “Dios mio,” Jose stereotypically yelps.

She passes out to the sound of Christian sneering “Fuck” and wakes up in a hotel bed.

They sneer and mutter and blush and gasp at one another. Now it’s breakfast time. Christian is all up in arms about not wasting food and I get hit in the head with a very big foreshadowing hammer.

At various times, Ana’s subconscious wears half-moon specs and a red hula skirt.

Okay.

So she’s scarfing down food and then blushes and then stops to bite her lip. This sends Christian reeling.

Christian wants to stay away, but he can’t because he likes the smell of her blood the way she chomps down on her lower lip. They make plans to have dinner later in Seattle as he escorts her to the elevator. Once they board, the ions react with his Axe body spray and cause loins to start lubricating and Christian to speak inexplicably in weird staccato sentences.

Off the elevator, Christian is impassive and calm and cold and clinical and Ana is confused and confounded and confuddled and concrapped.

He takes her in his own private helicopter and flies her to his home in Seattle. They talk about control and soaring and concentration and I get another blast by the foreshadowing hammer and I say “Thank you sir, may I have another?”

His house is big, like really big, like, big like a big house that has big rooms in it. Before he can, in his words “fuck hard,” he wants Ana to sign a document.

And that’s where I leave you today. I’m going to go locate that hammer.