Fifty Shades Grossed Out (Fifty Shades Freed: pgs. 201-250)

Ah yes, pages 201 to 250 of Fifty Shades Freed, how I hate you.

Heads up, gentle reader. This was the expression I had almost the entire time I read this passage:

Fucking hell?

The only time I was not making this face was when I was rolling my eyes. Yeah, you heard right Christian Grey, I was rolling my eyes. I’d like to try to see you spank me.

Another thing, gentle reader, I’ve given poor Goofy and Hugo a break this recrap. They have yet to fully recover from actually reading part of the book. Or it could be they are hidden away in a storage container while strangers traipse through the house we’re trying to sell. For some reason, a half-man puppet sticking Play-doh vaginal balls into a blue bunny is not a strong selling point.

We left it at Ana promising Christian she would entertain her friend Kate at their apartment while he’s out of town. (For previous recraps, please visit here) And that’s what she does.

Sike!

Kate swings by, scoops Ana up in a “Kate hug”–whatever the fuck that is–and they go out to drink their weight in strawberry mojitos.

Ana, of course, hasn’t eaten all day because she subsists on the scent of Christian’s body wash.

Ana brings her security team, Sawyer of the first name Luke and “Miss Belinda Prescott.” I am unsure why we are being introduced to the character in this fashion, but it’s great and by great, I mean I would like to squeeze my neck in a vice.

Kate mentions the additional security is driving the rest of the Greys crazy. Ana’s all like “The what, who now?” Ana’s been kept in the dark. This is because of Jack Hyde, Kate explains, and then they have a completely incongruous conversation.

“‘What about Jack? I thought he was just after Christian,’ I gasp. Jeez. Why hasn’t he told me?

‘Since Monday,’ Kate says.”

Huh? Ana’s not the only who doesn’t know what’s going on.

What should we do for dinner?

Since Tuesday.

Ana surges with anger as she learns from Kate that this all hinges on information on Jack’s computer. She gets up to go angry-pee and Miss Belinda Prescott follows disapprovingly behind. Ana mutters “wordlessly” how she hasn’t been out on her own since the wedding, to Miss Belinda Prescott. So I guess she muttered it in the manner of a Charlie Brown teacher. “Wah-wah wah. Wah-Wah. Wah-wah-wah.”

They drop Kate off. Ana figures Christian knows about her broken promise, and will be mad, but relishes the thought of him punishing her:

Yep. Making this face. Right now.

Christian has called five times and sent her an email:

 

She texts him back: “Kate kept me on my leash and I did not dig in the neighbor’s trash can like last time. Please don’t be mad. LOL.”

When the elevator doors open, Ana knows something is wrong. The foyer table is overturned and the flower vase is broken. Now this is significant because in Fifty Shades Darker, Ana noticed the vase of flowers was missing, and now it’s here and broken so…yeah I’ve got nothing.

Do you think it means something that the vase was not there, but now it is?

Since Monday.

It’s a Code Blue people. Holy fuck! A Code Fuckin’ Blue. Security guy Ryan has knocked Jack Hyde unconscious. Ana also doesn’t know Ryan’s first name. Fuck! Code Blue, people. Ana doesn’t know something!

Ryan noticed Jack on the service elevator and gave him access to the apartment. Huh? That makes no sense. “That way I knew we’d have him.” Um…okay. What if he happened to have a bomb strapped to his body? Doesn’t matter.

Ryan needs something to tie Jack up, and Ana offers up some cable ties and then wants the floor to swallow her up. Me too, sister.

Jack brought a gun and roll of duct tape with him. Ana wants to call the police, but the security is waiting to hear from Christian via Taylor. Ana tries to call Christian and leaves a message, telling him first not be mad at her (!) and that everything’s okay. And then she demands they call the police.

Detective Clark barks questions at Ana. Ana feels sad. She wants “to crawl into (Christian’s) lap.”

Ooh yes. The face is back.

She sleeps in his T-shirt and on his side of the bed because it smells like an abusive sack of douche.

She wakes and sees Christian sitting in a chair by the bed. He’s weirdly rubbing one of his Twizzler-fingers back and forth over his lower lip. He’s pissed with a capital BOO.

“I am way, way beyond mad.”  Aw! So cute.

They go back and forth. “Don’t be mad” I’m mad” etc. She crawls into his lap, and my face takes on a familiar expression.  He smells of whiskey, body wash and a stuck half turd.

“‘I want to punish you,’ he whispers. ‘Really beat the shit out of you.'”

Awwww….wait, what? Seriously, WHAT?!?

Yo! Now would be the time to get off that mutherfucker’s lap and go pack!

“‘I know,’ I whisper as my scalp prickles.”

Ana goes back to sleep, comforted by the notion the he might hammer her skull in while she rests. She wakes up and Christian is there in a tank top damp with sweat from likely murdering a random woman and disposing her body somewhere. Oh, and he’s still mad. He is a fun dude.

He showers and Ana jumps in. She tries to rev his engine, but he warns “Don’t.” Ana thinks he doesn’t want me anymore. And Jesus Christ, this goddamned book™.

She begs him not to overreact. Overreact, he snarls, someone tries to kidnap my wife, and it wasn’t me?!?. . . “And all because you can’t follow a simple, fucking request.” I don’t know how Jack’s break-in is connected to Ana’s night out with Kate, but maybe that’s because I’m not a fucktwit.

Later that morning, she tries to go into his office, but he has set up an invisible fence, and she gets shocked, turning away dejectedly.

She leaves for work, whispering “Don’t hate me.” Too late. Oh, you were talking to Christian. He doesn’t hate her, and then forcibly grabs her face and jams his tongue down her throat. After extracting a tonsil stone, he pushes her away and calls for security.

At work, Ana begins to wonder if Christian flew home early because of the break-in or because she went out with Kate. If it’s the latter, he’s a fargin psycho, she paraphrases. “Okay, I’m glad he’s back so maybe that’s irrelevant.”

Goddamnit! For two seconds, you almost sounded like a normal human being. Then you go and ruin it because “Hallelujah my man has returned!”

She emails Christian to find out what time he decided to fly back, and he’s all cagey, and by cagey, I mean a stinky fartface. She finally emails him a long diatribe saying she’s not a child–apart from the crawling in his lap, asking for his permission and behaving like a child in all manner and ways–and she’s pissed too.

When she arrives home, she sees Christian wearing his red-room-of-pain jeans, and Ana’s mouth dries out like my will to live. He’s still mad. So-weet! He’s mad she “defied him.” Whole bullshit thing about how he worried he would hurt her and she knew he never would, and where is it? Oh yes:

This is the man women are pining for? This guy?!?

Ana gets him to divulge a bit about the information contained on Jack’s hard drive. Files about his family and borrrinnnngg. Enough talk, Christian pricks, have you eaten? Of course not, but she did huff his underwear this morning so that carried her through the day. He decides to blindfold her and feed her. He spits wine into her mouth (yum?) followed by bits of lamb and humus and it’s sooooo…fucking unnecessary.

He refers to himself as “Fifty Shades, baby” when she describes him for the umpteenth time as mercurial. And yes, the face is happening even as I type this.

They go into the playroom–and Jesus Christ this recrap is long–and he nails her to the cross. Oops, I mean he handcuffs her to the cross in preparation for nailing. She’s blindfolded again and naked. He tweaks her parts until she’s about burst and stops. She mewls.

I’m two seconds away from dry heaving.

He keeps doing that, bringing her to the edge of climaxing and then stopping. After the tenth time (and believe me, we experience all 10 times), it dawns on Ana he’s doing this to punish her so she says the safe word “twat taco” and starts sobbing.

He’s like “My bad.” He says orgasm denial is a standard tool…and doesn’t continue. A standard tool committed by major tools? She said he has to stop trying to treat her like his submissive. He’s like a-derp.

That’s it for now. I have permanent wrinkles from my continual scowl.

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58 comments

  1. As funny as your posts are, I’m starting to have a yucky feeling reading them. It’s almost like your ten tons of humor and wit can’t mask the nasty taste this book leaves in my mouth. This shit is SO BAD that I can’t even seem to take a hit even when it’s heavily cut with humor. I’m really starting to feel bad for the fact that you have to take straight hits of this crap…. I hope you have good medical coverage for when you overdose on the stupidity that is this book :-/

  2. I am really starting to wonder if I should send my book in to the company that published this crap. If she can get published with this, I can get published!

    But then again, my book would be up against this pile of shit, and if I had to see E.L. James at some publishing event, I would have to karate-chop her in the neck for making me waste several days of my life trying to get through her “book”. Then I would have to karate chop her again for wasting even more days of your life. Then I would go to jail and lets just say I wouldn’t do well in there. Am I rambling? Are your eyes glazed over yet? Good! That’s apparently where I need to keep my readers in order to get published!

    (Once again – fantastic recap! 🙂 )

  3. I quite enjoy that you’ve now trademarked “Jesus Christ, this goddamned book.”

    This post also weirded me out. How in the world are people not only enjoying this garbage but wanting this asshole? *puke*

    1. You may use that expression any time especially when discussing Fifty Shades.
      Yes, this book is by far the worst of the three, and that is saying a whole twat of a lot.

  4. Oh dear god! Seriously? C’mon! For real? I can’t believe it! What kind of market has this author tapped into? I still don’t get it. And what other copycat authors are already out there with their series of books that will make us scowl? I hope this E.L. James hasn’t started a lasting trend but I’m sure it’s too late to stop it now.

    1. I’m going to write a book where the main male character just dumps garbage on the female character. He’s really good-looking and loves her so much, but he pelts her with moldy lasagna…because he lurves her so much. Like a lot much.

      1. Seriously, I wrote that exact sentiment in my copy on the page containing that scene. Literally exactly that.

  5. This recrap brings to mind one of your previous gems, where you wrote that the ghost of Susan B. Anthony punched a hole in the wall. I think the ghosts of Susan, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and all the other suffragettes and pioneers of women’s rights are hovering over the women reading these books and thinking, “What the fuck did we do all that work for???”

  6. I’m with CT. Even with all your awesomeness, the basic douchery of this book leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

    At this point, the only thing that could possibly make the book bearable is if Ana does a Lorena Bobbitt in the last chapter.

  7. Speaker7,
    Christian Grey, another great male role model à la Don Draper… Nothing says “I love you” like a good slap on the face and a few infidelities.
    Le Clown

  8. The closest I will ever come to reading this book is reading your recraps which I suspect is far superior literature anyway. Your hilarious take on this steaming pile of sludge is so inspired. I particularly appreciated this part for introducing me to a tonsil stone: “He doesn’t hate her, and then forcibly grabs her face and jams his tongue down her throat. After extracting a tonsil stone, he pushes her away and calls for security.”

      1. Hugo and Goofy have been seriously damaged by their involvement in this. Maybe Dr. Flynn. He seems like a really good therapist. I mean, look at Christian.

  9. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t read the actual book, but I’m confused about the part where Ana willingly goes into the Red Room of Pain and is willingly blindfolded and handcuffed and then cries that she doesn’t want to be treated as a submissive…wtf?

  10. I have the exact same face when I read this piece of crap. I’ve recrapped up to chapter 22, I think. I’m starting to lose count or lose my ability to count. Did an editor even open this book? How is that possible?

  11. Betty Friedan is just waiting for EL James to die so that she can beat the living crap out of her, and not in any way that will leave her “mewling”. And she’s only the first in line — behind her are all the other feminists, free-thinkers, and talented fucking writers who have ever died.

  12. Hang on wait – can you please tell me that there isn’t actually a sentence in this book that says ‘Ana mutters wordlessly’? Because hang on, don’t people know that if you mutter something, it has to be with words? Isn’t muttering wordlessly a bit like breathing breathlessly or seeing unseeingly? Or shitting unshittingly? God I can’t take it. You deserve a medal, not only for your astounding witticisms and ability to make me snort various liquids through my nose (NOT naughty liquids – I’m not Ana, for Jeez’s sake – I mean innocent drinking liquids), but for getting through all these five books of Godawful terribleness. I salute you, my friend. I salute you unsalutingly.

  13. I feel ill. Seriously ill. And I’m pretty sure I posed for that istock image after once witnessing my cat do what is now known in family folklore as “the double-ended catamazoo”. I think I might involuntarily pull a double-ended catamazoo after reading this recrap.

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