Fifty Shades Frogurt (Fifty Shades Freed: 101-150)

I have no strength to write a crafty opener to introduce pages 101 to 150 of Fifty Shades Frogurt, but let’s be honest have any of my openers been crafty? More like crappy, amirite. Up top, subconscious. (For previous recraps of crap, click here)

When we last left our “heroes,” they were being followed by some random car. They still are. Christian Grey is being kept up to date on the car’s location by his henchman Sawyer while Ana floors it. Ana is confused because Christian keeps saying “Luke.” Ana’s all like “Wha?”

“That’s his name.”

“Luke Sawyer?” Ana dumbs, and at this point even Christian hates her. Then Ana dumb-thinks How did I not know his first name?–during a high-speed car chase no less. Christian refrains from grabbing the wheel and driving off a precipice out of irritation and instead directs Ana to a parking garage. He points to a space, and Ana dumb-thinks Shit! He wants me to park it. Crap! What does she normally do? Stick it in neutral and jump? Jesus christ, this goddamned book.

They lose their pursuer, and that makes them want sexy-time so Christian fills up Ana’s tank. After, Ana feels drained and she “mewl(s).” Ugh.

The Greys learn their pursuer is female. Any moment, I expect to read how Ana is jealous of her. Christian sets his mouth in a thin, angry line and Ana tries to give him a hand job. He stops her hand because he doesn’t want to have an accident. Cool, calm, authoritative. . . My Fifty. And for the first time in a while he makes me feel like a wayward child. Gentle reader, do you mind if we pause?

Ana says she feels like a child because she can’t continue her hand job.

They arrive home. Christian wonders if he should fuck Ana on top of the car when a sleek BMW pulls into the garage. A young guy gets out and Ana says he looks like he works in media. What is he wearing a fedora with “PRESS” tucked in the brim? Media guy, who introduces himself as Noah Logan and who cares, flushes when he shakes Ana’s hand. Why is no one normal in these books.

Christian tells Ana she has another admirer–derp–and Ana rolls her eyes. Uh-oh, spanky time and I really think the majority of the punishment is being meted out on me. Ana wants it rough.

So now we’re in the red room of pain. Ana notes its Pledgy-vagina aura. For some reason E.L. James thinks it’s necessary to describe Ana listening to Christian set clothes and shoes on the floor…seriously, she spends a whole paragraph on this. It is hot as fungus. Speaking of fungus, Christian sticks his fingers in Ana, spreads their mix of bodily fluids all over her butt and then sticks his fingers inside her again. There is a reason doctors tell women to wipe from front to back. We will not get into it here because I love you.

Then Christian puts a plug up her butt.

After, Ana wonders who cleans the butt plugs. Either Christian or Mrs. Jones. I would have liked to see how that was broached with Mrs. Jones. “Mrs. Jones, I like my coffee black and my butt plugs sparkling. When can you start?”

We learn Ana and Christian have had a past argument about Ana returning to work. Ana is now an editor rather than acting editor, which makes sense since she was an acting editor for little less than a month before taking a three-week hiatus to get married. I got married during my stint as a reporter and my bosses made me Queen of the newspaper during that time. It came with a sash and everything. She’s not changing her name at work and hasn’t told Christian yet. That should go over well.

Ana uploads pictures from the new Nikon camera she bought Christian and discovers he’s taken thousands of pictures of her sleeping. That would make a great slideshow of their vacation. Here is Ana drooling. Now here is when Ana farts a few times. Here’s Ana sucking her thumb (and that actually is true. I enjoy how E.L. James constantly infantilizes Ana, and by enjoy, I mean I wish I could gargle Drano). She becomes overwhelmed by her feelings for Christian and thinks about all the stupid implausible plot points E.L. James has shoved between the acts of butt plugery and has to see Christian immediately. She bursts into his office while he’s on the phone trying to get security tape enhanced so he can see who set fire to the server room. Ana knows who it is: Jack Hyde.

Da-da-dumb!

Christian is jealous that Ana recognized him from the “line of his jaw,” and seriously I’m kind of with him because what the fuck does that mean? The guy on the other end says they still have the contents of Jack’s hard drive. Ana wants to know what’s on it. Something about Christian, but he won’t tell her what because he’s a withholding butt munch. 

They eat dinner–some twaffle waffle about Ana being barefoot in the kitchen, but Christian hopes not pregnant because he doesn’t want “to share her”–they bore me with architectural plans, and now watch TV, which Christian hates and I didn’t think it was possible to dislike him more. Ana wants to make out. Christian never has, and then creepily wants a complete accounting of all the guys who felt up Ana. I would rather read a detailed history of the Crusades.  Jesus, dude, she married you, okay, and has agreed to be your living Barbie Doll. Lighten the fuck up.

He sticks his fingers in her and makes her taste it. Awesome. “I’m like a starving man at a banquet when it comes to your touch,” he cheeses. He hauls off her top. Ana’s naked beneath it. Seriously? You mean she’s not wearing 400 undershirts? Jesus christ, this goddamned book. I would not be surprised to read My body involuntarily eliminates waste. 

They do it.

Next day, Christian drops off Ana sans butt plug at the publishing company. She encounters her assistant Hannah who is “tall, slim and ruthlessly efficient” so Ana basically hates her. Hannah gets Ana a latte–“the only coffee I let her get me.” Honestly, why is this in here? This offers nothing and I know that pretty much every word in this book offers nothing, but I’m getting a little upset by these meaningless asides of stupidity. The tablecloth in my dining room is yellow.

Ana gets an email from Christian since it’s been three minutes since he’s taken her rectal temperature. He knows she is going by Steele rather than Grey. She emails she’ll explain everything later. And that should be enough to placate him, right?

Wrong, he shows up at her work, shooting her “a blazing look” of douchery. He ssss the Steele in her name like Harry Potter speaking in parseltongue (Oh J.K., I miss you). He farts something about his assets needing rebranding. I am not a freaking asset! Ana yell-thinks, but doesn’t say because, god forbid, she shows a backbone. It goes on for an eternity. Ana tries to reason with him saying she had no idea he would buy the company she worked for and now it makes things a little squiggly for her since she’s married to The Man. He wants everyone to know she is his and the wedding bands and wedding butt plugs are not enough.

He says: “I want your world to begin and end with me.” Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if this book ends with a murder/suicide; Ana’s murder, my suicide.

Here’s how that whole name-change discussion went down between me and my then fiancé.

Me: I’m keeping my name.

Mr. Speaker7: Okay.

Me: On second thought, I’m going to take your name.

Mr. Speaker7: Okay.

Blah, blah, blah Christian is going to change the name of the company to Grey Publishing and give it to Ana so that will make it weird since her last name is Steele, he makes up on the spot.

But I’m not a shitbag like you, Ana says. You read, Christian counters. And then Christians wants to stick his shitbag dong in her and Ana cringes “Not here. You can fuck me seven shades of Sunday this evening.”

Jesus christ, this goddamned book.

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46 comments

  1. I know this is wrong, but your reviews only make me want to read the books and see how messed up they are on my own. But I’m worried about staining the linens with my brain ooze. Very bad look, yanno.

  2. “We will not get into it here because I love you.”

    This is the first post that I’ve been able to read without my short people hovering around (I’m sure you can imagine how…um…uncomfortable it would be to explain why I was laughing my face off at one of your blog posts).

    Your asides are as funny as your recrap and, for that, I thank you from the very bottom of my heart.

    As my own aside, I sat in a Starbucks the other day working on some course development and trying very, very hard not to overhear a conversation about a) how good Fifty Shades of Grey is, and b) what an easy read it is. The next time I hear that “easy read” bit, I think I will tell them of the torture you are enduring.

    1. That is fascinating to me. I want to talk to people who love the book and find out why. It’s almost like encountering an alien from the planet Shitball (that’s a planet, right?). These books are just so poorly written. A dead carcass of a squirrel could do a better job.

      1. I’m embarrassed to admit the number of friends I have who’ve read and loved these books…I’m doing a lot of re-evaluating over here.

  3. Thank you for reading this book so I don’t have to. My book club is dying to read this, I think I’ll show up with your version instead, complete with bunny and man of 1000 faces to reenact the salient points.

    1. I don’t know what a book club could even discuss. “Did you like how E.L. James used the word “crap” every other word?” “I really enjoyed the bit when Christian curled his eyebrow so extremely it touched his pursed lips.” “Isn’t Christian a prick and Ana the worst female protagonist since writing was invented?” There–I guess you could talk about that last bit because that is true.

      1. They just want to talk about dirty sex and drink wine. But we always do that, so why not just skip the terrible book? If they make me read it, I am totally bringing that last point up.

      2. I think you could have an interesting discussion about what makes the writing so bad. Like, why are the British-isms so jarring? What possible definition of “subconscious” could she be using when her subconscious is having a conversation with her inner goddess? In the part of the book that I actually managed to get through, Christian was always murmuring in staccato. Is that even logically possible?

      1. Well it’s been lovely, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading your words, and if you do in fact tip over to the other side, I’ll track down EL James and give her a serious talking to.

  4. I laugh because you are so goddamned funny—I can’t even say which is my favorite part of this post because they’re all my favorite part. And I cry because nobody should have to endure this torture. Even the Geneva Convention doesn’t allow this.

    There needs to be some sort of campaign like “Each time someone buys or praises the Fifty Shades series, a kitten or puppy dies.”

      1. If we can persuade the ASPCA or the Humane Society to help out that would be perfect. They know how to pull the heartstrings about animals like nobody else. Maybe a billboard showing the book next to a heartbreaking photo of a sad kitten. “Don’t let Fluffy suffer. Stay the fuck way from these books.”

  5. My book club suggested this, too. Luckily, I’m in charge of it. The title suspiciously didn’t make our list. How does anyone not need therapy after reading this shit?

    1. Book clubs want to discuss this book? I don’t get it either. I also don’t understand women, really, really, don’t understand women that like this book. Some of them read it several times. That’s just . . . I just . . . I feel like I do when I’ve just read something idiotic James wrote. Like when Christian beats Ana and she’s upset but not because he beat her. No, it’s cause he didn’t stay to snuggle with her afterwards. And he hit her 18 times and and and . . . he comes back and she snuggles and she feels so safe and protected and this is the worst book ever. I just finished recapping chapters 15 and 16 (whackings and smackings for Ana) and I think my brain really has melted and is currently oozing out my left eardrum.

      1. I don’t get it either. Ana is the worst woman in literature, if you can actually call her a woman and the book literature.

  6. You are right on: derp herp derp derp. Derp.
    I think you should start a virtual tip jar to put toward all the alcohol you must imbibe to read this crapdouchetwat of a book. I will start with a virtual donation of $1,000. I think that should cover the next 50 pages for you.
    May God bless you and have mercy on your soul.

  7. Every time I read you recaps I am more and more assured that not all straight women are dumbasses. I have not met one straight woman (in real life) who has not liked these books. Not one. I usually say something like “the writing is terrible”, “it has not plot”, etc – and they agree, but they still like it. They always think I don’t like it because I’m a lesbian, but that’s not it at all. I like reading all types of erotica – straight and lesbian, but this, this shit ain’t erotica by any stretch of the imagination. It’s not even fiction. It’s just, what’s the word for it? Oh yeah, CRAP!

    Great recap as always my friend!

      1. I completely support the notion that straight women are dumbasses because if they’re thinking Christian Grey is some kind of romantic hero then their asses are dumb. I love how your associates think you don’t like the book because you’re a lesbian. Um no, it’s because the book is a giant piece o’ craptwat.

  8. Ok I will admit that I loved the books. Totally enthralled with the story and no, it was not my first foray into erotica. But then I found you. You rescued me from the dark tunnel. You have brought me to the light where I have finally drawn my lips into a hard line and triple fisted my hair so much that people compliment me on my Brazillian ‘up there’. How could I have been so stupid? You have bitch slapped me back to reality. You have saved one soul.

  9. Dear Speaker, I have been neglectful of blogs of late, and in catching up, I had three of your spectacucrap Fifty Shades posts to catch up on, and I opened them in three separate tabs. I’ve read them out of order. It barely matters. The only reason I noticed was that you didn’t seem quite as depressed as you did in the next recrap.

    It says something about EL Bastard James that Ana is a stereotypical Mary Sue character, and also a vehicle for self-insertion (a phrase which is not intended a euphemism, but will doubtless turn up in one of the three shite-wodges anyway) and yet Ana is, as you say, infantilised continuously. Her continuous needs for reassurance, her childlike romanticising of anything Christian does that’s a bit sketchy, even if confronting it might make them a stronger, deeper, and dare I say it, more relatable couple, her I’d-like-to-believe-not wilful misinterpretation of anything that might be a facet of Christian’s life other than her: his rebranding of his company, for example.

    How old is she? Fourteen? I wouldn’t put it past Christian… In all seriousness, E.L. James has either some serious issues, or else needs to get some emotional maturity fast. It’s damaging – readers experience this story through Ana, and she’s an awful, pathetic character, not just an awful, pathetic person. If all women were like Ana (and some of the more susceptible ones will be after reading this tripe) nothing would get done.

    Anyway, you are funny and I laughed.

    1. Chris,
      Are you saying you’re not in love with Ana Steele Grey? All men are in love with Ana Steele Grey because she is sooooo. . . um. . . you know, she’s just got that thing or something. That lady part some men like so much. Oh, and no gag reflex. And she’s 22.

      I’m perplexed by women who claim they love Christian Grey because just yuck. Just yuck. That’s pretty much all I can say. Oh, and he’s an abusive douchenozzle. I’ve started reading the next 50 pages and he actually tells her, he wants to beat the shit out of her. *sigh* I mean, what the f***?!?

  10. In my copy, it says the guy in the BMW who “looks like he works for the media” is named Paul Harrison. I wonder what that’s about…

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