Fifty Shades Freed: The Twatsausage edition (pgs. 151-200)

Ah twatsausage.

Does that sum up pages 151 to 200 of Fifty Shades Freed? Because it should. It’s a sheep-intestine casing stuffed entirely with pig anuses, chicken bladders and rat feces, and although it is served with fried peppers and onions, it still tastes like the worst book ever written.

(For previous segments of twatsausage, click here)

Let’s carry on.

Ana’s still pissy about the name change conversation. She pouts in the car on the way home. She notes Christian has “floppy sex hair.” Oh my god, I can’t even… She mutters he needs a haircut and stomps onto the elevator.

Why you mad baby? Christian mutter croons. Because I gave in to your demands like I do every time only this time I’m going to stay upset until you stick your fingers inside me and order me to come on command, Ana says. She downs a glass of wine.

“‘Don’t be mad. You’re so precious to me. Like a priceless asset, like a child,’ he whispers, a somber reverent expression on his face.”

Instead of saying WTF did you just call me? I’m either a thing or a baby? You are a sick motherfucker, Ana gets distracted by the words “precious” and “like a child” and thinks Christian is up for making a baby. I just split my head open with an ax.

They need to stop talking because Gia, the whore architect, is stopping by with her whorish designs for their new house. Christian says if she’s still mad, she can take it out on him in bed. What? Bed? How? Ana dumb-thinks. Here is my suggestion: smother him to death with a pillow made out of butt plugs.

She prepares for Gia’s visit. Her inner goddess gets out her harlot-red nail polish. I don’t believe Gia can see that, but okay. You go grrll and other meaningless platitudes. Ana plops her boobs out of her shirt, puts on lots of mascara and brushes her hair vigorously so it’s a “chestnut haze” around her head. It doesn’t say, but I’m guessing Ana also dropped some acid.

She meets Christian in the “great room” (great description E.L. James. Is the “little room” next door?). Gia shows up. She yowls and rubs her lady bits against the couch and pees outside the litter box. Ana sprays her with a squirt bottle, and loops her arm around Christian’s waist, giving his ass a squeeze.

There is some stupidness about Ana feeling she and Christian are on a team versus Gia and her exposed perineum. Ana’s inner goddess even gets in on the action, donning a gladiatrix outfit. If only Gia were an actual lion and ate them. While Ana’s getting Gia a glass of dry white wine–Shit! Sauvignon blanc–that’s dry white, isn’t it? Ana dumbs–Gia touches Christian’s arm. GASP! Christian flinches because childhood trauma, and Ana pretends she doesn’t like Gia because she makes Christian uncomfortable rather than because Ana hates the entirety of womenkind.

Christian’s henchman Taylor needs Christian for some urgent made-up business, leaving Ana alone to have some words with Gia over her “eye-fucking” Christian. She is so empowered. Keep your hands off my man, ho, Ana waves her finger in Gia’s face. She throws a chair and is restrained by Steve, the big burly security guard on The Jerry Springer Show. Gia begins stuttering and floundering and yeesh. Ana relaxes for the first time, and My inner goddess is celebrating her inner bitch.

Insert sound of record scratch.

I’m sorry. . . her what, now? Ana’s inner goddess has an inner thingy too? It’s like Ana’s a Russian nesting doll.

This…I… uh..I…yeah, okay I’m done.

Oh Jesus, you guys are broken. I’m so so sorry. We just have a few pages left. I’ll take it from here.

Christian leaves for New York. Ana plans to go out with Kate although she feels a piece of her is missing. Yes that would his dong constantly in your vag. He calls to say he got in okay, and wonders what she will be doing with Kate. He wants her to stay at the apartment chained to the radiator. Please let (!) me go out! Ana dumb-thinks. He says “No. Finish your homework and no watching TV after 7 p.m.” She acquiesces because she sucks.

Stay tuned for the next helping of twatsausage.

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51 comments

  1. Hugo and Goofy. Wow. Way to hang in there for so long. Do they know the Liquorstore Bear? (Liquorstorebear.com) They may need some recommendations to get them through the remaining recraps.

  2. Also with the tears streaming. Partly at the hilarity of this post. Partly at the fact that people actually buy and like this crap. (Yes, I said, ‘crap.’)

  3. Oh my gosh. I have laughed at all of your re-craps but when I read “Editor, Focus on the Family” I laughed so hard I scared the children and the cats! You are doing such a public service to those of us who refuse to read the books. I’m so glad you took the plunge!! 😀

    1. Thank you. I’m amazed that an English woman has created the worst American woman alive. That’s why I thought she’d be a perfect addition to Focus on the Family.

  4. I must say, I totally loved Hugo’s and Goofy’s pinch hitting today. So happy to laugh at these than stab myself in the eyes actually reading the books.

      1. If I check the chart, yes, a Great Room and a Lousy Room are but two nodes on a sliding scale of rooms. There’s also a subsection on coloured rooms – Red Rooms of Pain are a common architectural request, these days, as are Yellow Rooms of Bowel Discomfort and Fuchsia Rooms of Shame. My own house has not one but two Blue Rooms of Forgetting What You Went In There For.

  5. Here I was self-flagellating for reading Fifty Shades of Stupidity when I came across your blog … makes all the liquified brain matter worth it. You, Hugo and Goofy are so damn funny and I hope you’re downing ample amounts of booze whilst doing these recraps. It’s the only way to survive the horror.

      1. Lots and lots of alcohol seems to numb the pain. It doesn’t help the brain fluidity situation but after a bottle or ten you lose the will and the ability to care.

  6. I went to Barnes and Noble yesterday. I surreptitiously took a copy of “Fifty Shades of Something” to where no one would see me (in the poetry section) and found a few pages of sex. But to my disappointment, it was as surreptitious an ass-wipe as was my book-swipe. Come on, EL, Don’t beat around the bush (so to speak). If I am going to read porn, at least let there BE SOME PORN!

  7. I think this is the best one yet. I LOOOOOOOVE that Hugo and Goofy had to get hammered in order to read this book. “How does Hugo pee? He has no body below the navel!” I dumbed.

  8. In the film version of this blog Hugo should be played by Ed Harris or has Ed Harris had the lower half of his body amputated and is he actually playing Hugo? I have not seen him on screen in a while. I would sooner ice climb naked than go anywhere near that piece-of-crap book — wait! That’s not entirely true; I see women reading it on the subway all the time. They always seem to be not much beyond page 12 — is that cover supposed to be a guy-magnet? Anyway, I will return to reading your blog. “Twatsausage” would have been a far better title for this trinity of dreck but no one had the brain cells to ask me so I could have referred them to you.

    1. I can neither confirm or deny if Hugo is actually Ed Harris preparing for his role to play Hugo in the upcoming movie of my blog called “Twatsausage: A Love Story.”

      1. You sound like you work in politics — which is rather familiar turf for Twatsausage, too, or else an ex-congressman flashing his bulge on Twitter wasn’t named Anthony Weiner.

  9. My son came in while I was reading this (and giggling insanely to myself) and saw the pictures of Goofy and Hugo. “Oooh! I’ve got a rabbit like that, only he’s holding a big carrot!” he said.

  10. Please tell me you’re giving Hugo and Goofy the night off now.

    Gia peeing outside the litterbox and Ana squirting her with a water bottle….nothing short of amazing right there.

  11. Awesome recap. Hugo and Goofy were hilarious. I feel their pain. I might have to start drinking soon. I’m to Chapter 21 now and it somehow manages to keep getting worse. This book is just . . . it just . . . why? Why do women like this? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

  12. Okay, the only way any of this makes any sense is if Ana’s inner goddess’s inner bitch has an inner idiot, which turns out to be Ana herself, like a snake swallowing its own tail.

    As much as it pains me to do this, I have to defend E.L. James here: a “great room” is an actual thing.

    1. I like the inner idiot=Ana. That seems very true to me. Thank you for the great room clarification. EL does such a terrible job describing anything that’s it hard to know if she is actually talking about a real thing.

  13. Dear Speaker 7,

    Please stop sticking your head in the oven. I just discovered your blog, and I selfishly want you to stay alive and keep writing it. I have not found a single other blog where the stuffed animals drink and fondle cucumbers. You are simply crabtastic. (Yes, it’s a made up word, but I otherwise have very little in common with Sarah Palin.)

    Sincerely,
    Love and Lunchmeat

    P.S. Eew. Crabtastic does not mean that. You’ve been reading too much E.L. James…

  14. I just wanted to say that I’ve read all of your recraps–they all make me laugh (and feel terribly sorry for you because you’re reading this and THINKING about it), but this one is your magnum opus. The pathos conveyed by Goofy and Hugo is unparalleled in the history of bunny/puppet reenactments. I had to read it twice and have been showing it to anyone I know. I may being accosting strangers because this MUST be shared.

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