Month: August 2012

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.

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.

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.

A Pad of Sludge

So, so much crying on this episode of Bachelor Pad 3. Some of it being done by me, most of it being done by contestants–ah sweet, sweet alcohol, you do bring out the best in people.

This was not my favorite episode, which is saying a lot because I hate all episodes of Bachelor Pad. And my two-year-old is ill with crying-itis so frankly, gentle reader, we’re going to get this over speedily like a quick shampoo to clear up crabs.

The contestants leave the house and arrive at the abandoned set of Nickelodeon’s Double Dare game show. Host Chris Harrison tells them they will participate in a relay called Hot Sludge Funday, which basically means they will scoot around in goop. The female half of the pair goes first and finishes by dousing herself with nuts. The male half finishes by eating a cherry. And Bachelor Pad producers get a C-minus for sexual innuendo. The twist is partners will be paired up randomly.

Ed, the drunk contestant who was thinking of leaving because he almost was voted off, is drunk. He gets stuck on the wall of shit, which could be seen as a metaphor for his life.

Ed and his partner Jamie lose and each have an elimination vote cast against them. Super fan Dave and his partner Rachel win the competition, an immunity rose and a date with three other people.

Dave’s date is first, and he chooses to take Jamie, Blakely and Erica. I’ll let Jamie set the scene: “We arrive at some red-carpeted place.”

It’s the Bachelor Pad prom. And it’s soooooo…sad.

Jamie never went to her senior prom because senior year was when her mom kind of checked out on the whole parenting thing. Dave wants to give her his immunity rose, but Blakely is all like “Oh hell no.” See Jamie and Blakely do not get along because Jamie made out with Blakely’s partner Chris and oh my god, what the fuck am I writing?

Blakely brings up Dave’s promise to vote how she wished, and makes the sweeping pronouncement that Dave’s time on Bachelor Pad is short-lived. Isn’t everyone’s? What is this show on for another two weeks? I’m sorry what I meant to say was “Oh my god.”

Anyhoo, Dave gives Jamie the rose.

Meanwhile at the house, Reid assures Ed that he will not be on the chopping block again while telling us that Ed will be on the chopping block again. Ed’s like “Reid’s my friend!” And Reid’s like “No I’m not.” Zzzzzzz. I mean, wowzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Rachel’s date is next. She takes Nick(?), Tony (?) and Michael. I swear I thought Nick/Tony was the same person, but apparently not. They arrive at Madame Tussauds wax museum. “I’m just a normal guy and all of a sudden, I’m surrounded by celebrities,” says Nick/Tony. Does he not understand that they are made of wax?

The kicker is the four contestants will be done up like wax figures to trick Bachelor fans. Is the trick that they’re not actually celebrities?

The fans are brought in and asked questions about the wax-like Bachelor contestants behind them. One woman is unsure who Tony even is (that makes two of us) and then remembers he was the pathetic one.

Tony thinks it’s “great.”

Rachel gives Michael the immunity rose, and the two feel all kissy-face in Butch Cassidy’s hide out.

Meanwhile at the pad, Jamie goes on and on about Chris’s love for her, and his desire to dump Blakely as his partner to hook up with Jamie. “To fall in love on this show would be amazing,” she delusions.

She goes to Chris’s bunk and he gives her the whole it’s-not-you-it’s-me-but-actually-it’s-really-you speech.

Jamie cries and says she’s awkward at dating and it’s really hard for her to trust people. Here’s some advice: meet someone not on a reality game show.

Elimination day. Reid floats around in a pool and unveils his plan to destroy Ed. He looks very intimidating in his polka-dotted inner tube.

Sarah feels she owes it to Ed to tell him what’s coming down the pike. Ed feels the inner tube of betrayal constrict his waist.

In a talking head, Ed vows to retaliate.

Later that night, he confronts Reid in the pool. Reid feels powerless without his polka-dotted tube holding him up, and is a terrible liar. He starts to sweat immediately and shifts his eyes all around. Ed tells Reid he sucks and knows that Reid is conspiring against him. Reid is all “Ruh-roh.”

Blakely worries she is also going home and turns to the men for assurance. Tony does what he can:

But in the end it is Reid and super fan Donna who are sent packing. Before Reid leaves, Ed’s partner Jacelyn says “I’m shit-faced. . . oh and Reid you’re a dishonest whatchamacallit. I’m drunk, yo.”

In the limo, Reid has a moment of clarity when he says: “I feel like a pretty big loser right now.”

Don’t we all, buddy. Don’t we all.

Fifty Shades Fungholery (Fifty Shades Freed: pgs. 51-100)

Hm. I thought the book Fifty Shades Freed ended with Anastasia Steele Grey’s down there resembling a sphynx cat. But apparently those are sentences that fill the 528 pages following pages 1 through 50, and while the sentences make little to no sense, Hugo assures me that they do in fact continue on with the story. Here is what happened if you missed my first recrap of this book:

Christian Grey and Anastasia S. Grey rubbed parts vigorously; sometimes against one another, sometimes against innocent bystanders. A barely functioning synapse fired in Ana’s head, and produced the thought “Crapdong.” Frogs rained from the sky and immediately began humping swarms of locusts.

You are caught up.

(For all recraps of this series, visit this page)

The Greys are still mooning over each other by mooning each other on their honeymoon. Christian wants to go pick out art for their new home. How can I buy art? Ana dumbs. First guess…with money? Second guess…with Cool Ranch Doritoes®? Christian assures her that they’ll pick what they like, and not worry about the art being an investment. So yes, the poster of the kitten hanging from the tree with the saying “I’d Hit That” is completely acceptable for the foyer.  Investment…jeez, Ana double dumbs.  Seriously Ana, what the funghole is your problem?

The art trip reminds Ana of Gia the architect Christian has hired to redo their house. We have not met Gia, but guess what? She drowned in a sea of drool when she set her sights on the overstretched gray fabric concealing the giant Grey dong. Ana hates Gia. Ana hates all women, but most of all herself.

On their trip to Saint-Paul-de-Vence, the couple are followed by security, but Ana feels comfortable “tucked under” Christian’s arm. How is that possible? Is she made out of newspaper?

They look at art and Ana has dumb thoughts–Did Christian destroy the box of naked photographs? Should I let him take photos of me? Has the security team eaten? Is E.L. James just writing whatever the fuck pops in her head?–and feels things in her groin where her brain is located. Guess what? The female gallery employee wants Christian and asks if she can hang a picture of his ball sack next to the Renoir.

At lunch Christian randomly reveals why he likes to braid Ana’s hair “The crack whore used to let me play with her hair, I think. I don’t know if it’s a memory or a dream.”

Awwww.

Wait, what the fuh did he just say?

“‘I like it when  you play with my hair.’ (Ana’s) voice is hesitant.” Then she drops the bombshell: “I think you loved your birth mother.” Christian is stunned and he has fathomless gray eyes. His twitchy fathomless mouth, however, is not speaking to Ana. She feels poopy.

But then:

“He gives me that look, down his nose, half amused, half wary, wholly sexy, then tucks me under his arm, and we make our way through tourists toward the spot where Philippe/Gaston has parked the roomy Merecedes.”

He examines the indentations the handcuffs left on her wrist. “It’s not sore,” Ana keeps saying and then thinks he can be savage some times. This is the greatest marriage of ever. Seriously if you are married right now, your marriage totally sucks compared to this one. Get divorced…jeez.

He buys her a bracelet and all better. The “stick thin” sales assistant stares at them like a jealous jerk face. My handcuff indentations looks so much rawer than hers, Ana thinks triumphantly (I might have made that up).

Ana really likes other women, can’t you tell?

In the car, Christian presses the button to activate the privacy partition and pulls Ana’s feet into his lap to examine the handcuff indentations on her ankles. He’s sad. She starts to give him a foot job. He’s happy.

His phone rings. “In the server room? Did it activate the fire suppression system?” Ana removes her feet. Christian doesn’t want the fire or police departments involved because his cock is on the case. Some more unrealistic one-sided phone banter–“Yeah, sounds like the argon is just as effective, worth it’s weight in gold”–and we learn there was a fire in Christian’s offices, but it was restricted to the server room and blooper ball bleaker bloom argon goldsticks. What I wrote makes just as much sense as anything E.L. James thinks up.

Ana tries to strangle herself. At least I think that’s what “My hand clutches my throat in fear” means, and she thinks what’s next.

Back on the boat Ana’s bored because Christian’s too busy to fiddle with her sex button. She wants to go shopping and take the jet ski. When she goes to ask him for permission (!) she thinks why do I feel like I’ve entered the principal’s office? Maybe because you’re asking your husband’s permission to engage in normal human activities. I understand she has to get written approval to do a number 2.

He lets her go, but she doesn’t say anything about the jet ski and her subconscious chastises her.  Taylor, Christian’s main henchman, admires Ana’s chutzpah or handcuff indentations, I don’t really know or care, but it’s pointed out that he gives her a constipated smile.

Ana thinks it’s ridiculous that she has three members of the security team with her even though she was strangling herself with fear two pages ago. She jet skis around the sea, and sees Christian glowering at her from the yacht.

Taylor relays the message that Christian’s pissed. Oh my poor pathologically overprotective husband, what am I going to do with you. Likely nothing and continue to live like a Madame Alexander doll kept on a mantle. But yo, check this, Ana doesn’t appreciate being scolded by Taylor because he is not my father or my husband. There are no words.

She shops. She buys a cheap ankle bracelet, and feels empowered or stupid or something. She calls Jose for advice on what to buy Christian because time zones be damned. Jose is chilly then stunned, and I am not stunned that I don’t care.

She buys Christian a camera because he likes nudey photographs. She presents it to him, and even though she can barely look him in the eyes, she says she’d like him to take beaver shots of her.

Christian doesn’t seem too happy about that and my subconscious glares at me like I’m a domesticated farm animal.

Christian says he knows he objectified women in the past by taking their photographs. All air leaves Ana’s body and she dies. Yay!

Oops, wishful thinking. Christian is unraveling. Ana thinks clearly for once, and notices how he keeps looking at her wrists. Oh, he’s upset about this and the fire and other craptwats.

She decides the best tactic is to take pictures of his alarmed face. “‘Well,’ Ana says. ‘It was supposed to be fun, but apparently it’s a symbol of women’s oppression.’ No Ana, that would be you.

They have sex. 

Did you guys hear me? I said they have sex.

Just to let you know I have a mangled ninja turtle and a headless barbie (thanks 1pointperspective!) waiting in the wings. And they can bang like nobody’s business.

After Christian blasts his hose into Ana’s loin fire, he confesses the office fire was arson. Someone is out to get Christian, Ana worries, but luckily seems to be just as dumb as Ana and Christian.

They head back to the States. Christian wants to carry Ana over the threshold. He’s pleased she’s put on weight. You love me even though I’m fat Ana teases through gritted teeth while she “fists her fingers” in his hair. How does one fist one’s fingers? Do Ana’s fingers each have tiny fingers that can be balled into fists?

Lunch at the in-laws. Ana’s in a funk. She’s upset Christian called her a fatty boom-ba-latty. She picks at her food. “I am going to take you to the boathouse and finally spank you in there if you don’t snap out of this mood,” Christian whispers. Christian penned the book Overcoming Depression: One Spank at a Time.

Later Christian tinkles on the piano, and the whole room stops when he begins to sing.

Apparently his family has never heard him sing before, and it’s just as exciting as that scene in the The Music Man when Winthrop busts out a verse of “The Wells Fargo Wagon” except Winthrop was 6 and Christian is a “grown” man.

Christian lets (!) Ana drive home. She grinds her vagina into the pedal, and loses the security crew. Urgent phone call to Christian. They’re being followed!!

Yeah, by the security crew.

No! By somebody else and the security crew knows this even though they lost Ana and Christian’s trail because they’re precogs or something.

Ana inserts the gas pedal directly into her super vag and takes off. I weave between the two lanes of traffic like a black piece in a game of checkers, effectively jumping the cars and trucks. What is this the Matrix? Can I take the blue pill and live in a fictional world where this book doesn’t exist? Please, Morpheus.

Ana swerves directly into the path of a tractor trailer and they are flattened like pancakes–be it highly erotic pancakes. Christian is able insert his waffle-shaped penis into Ana’s mail slot one last time and she takes her last breath climaxing.

Oops, wishful thinking again. They’re still speeding as we end on page 100.

Fifty Shades Freed: The Final Countdown (pgs. 1-50)

Okay, I have procrastinated long enough.

It was a struggle, gentle reader. I’m not going to lie. I did pretty much anything else to avoid picking up and reading the first 50 pages of Fifty Shades Freon. I cleaned the house. I went outside. I watched my child.

I wasn’t the only one who tried to avoid this unpleasant task. Goofy tried to escape the premises, but ran into a small snag:

I’m pretty sure Hugo tried to commit suicide:

But here we all are, ready to behold the crapness that will undoubtedly permeate every page of this turdpile called a best seller. (If you are new to this blog and would like to read other recraps, please visit this page. I accept no responsibility for your misery)

I feel before I begin, I should point out that the main characters Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele are actual human beings. They are not, in fact, a grey hot dog stuck inside a gooey clam shell. It may seem they are those things because they do not talk or behave like human beings, but that’s just because they are giant a-holes.

So the grey hot dog and gooey clam shell are on their honeymoon in Monaco. Ana thinks, Crap, but with some kind of European accent.

They continually refer to each other as Mr. and Mrs. Grey, which is in no way tedious or makes one want to scrape at one’s eyeballs with a carrot peeler. It’s so very ass face adorable in the way that John Wayne Gacy’s clown paintings are adorable.

Here take a gander:

They almost sex it up on the beach. She runs her teeth along his jaw. People do that? Maybe clams do. He throws her in the sea and she gets back at him by taking off her bikini top while he swims. We are treated to flashbacks of the proposal and the wedding.

Christian is very insistent that he is the only one to take off her wedding dress so she cannot change before they leave for their honeymoon. Ana’s mother’s like “What the fuh, dude?” and Ana shrugs because poop.

She thinks about the terrible fight they had over her refusal to keep the obey part in the vows.

Sorry ladies, he’s taken, but don’t worry O.J. Simpson might get paroled in 2017 so you can snag your own psychopath.

On the plane all the women blush and blink rapidly at Christian. Are they on bath salts? Nope, they just love them some Grey. Ana wonders if she’ll ever get used to the Axe-Body-spray-like reaction Christian provokes, but instead “I smile kindly at her. After all–he is mine.” Awww. What a condescending asshole she is.

On the plane, Christian wants to talk about their trip through Europe, and see where Ana wants to go. I’m just kidding. They bump bits. Throughout the whole ordeal, he keeps saying “mine” about her breasts and her “sex” which is E.L. James grown-up language for vagina. It’s very erotic. I should probably stop huffing glue because I am starting to say some crazy shit.

Back to the present and Christian’s mad because Ana turned over onto her back during her slumber and all the world can see her titty ta-tas. His eyes blaze, he huffs, he stomps, he farts angrily.

He yells about his security team checking out her boom-booms. I’m pretty sure they’ve seen everything since the two are joined at the vulva. Ana thinks Crap so many times, I fear she’s broken.

Christian brings up the paparazzi because tabloids are just jonesing for pics of guys involved in mergers and acquisitions. Oh my god guys, do remember that story in Us Weekly about Brian Blackman discussing Molycorp’s third quarter earnings? That was insane. His body is definitely not beach ready.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Ana whispers like she does every three sentences.

Christian whistles for Taylor and the two French security guys Weirdly they are identical twins, Ana ponders. Weirdly I don’t give a shit. Always Ana thinks stupid things.

He drags her onto a jet ski. She is the only one who wears a life jacket, and Christian checks it like I check the straps on my 2-year-old’s life jacket. A small crowd has gathered to watch because they are so fucking amazing, and he zooms around the water like a douchebag. Now he’s fine. Yippee.

They get on their yacht:

Ana thinks she’s going to be punished, and she kinda wants to be. Give me one second, I’m now going to stick my hand down the garbage disposal. She cannot tell if he is still angry so she employs her patented distraction technique™. I don’t have any clue what she’s talking about, but the US government should revoke that patent. She asks him something inane like “Do you do the Dew?”

We get another flashback to a prenup conversation that took far too many years off my life and far too long to say no prenup.

Back to present, and Ana is making nut jokes as they pass nuts back and forth. Drink up cuz we’re going to fuck, says Christian, but using more words. He tells her not to pee. Nice, and she will so dig that urinary tract infection. The look he gives her could be responsible for global warming, Ana dumbs.

He takes her in the bedroom and shows her handcuffs. They feel solid, Ana thinks.  Um, yes. Surprisingly they are not liquid or gaseous. He has her pick a safe word–beef curtain–and he handcuffs her wrists to her ankles so she can’t bend her legs. “I’m going to fuck you till you scream,” he says. And he does. And while he bangs away, he asks really hot questions like “Why do you defy me.”

I tried to get visuals, but I don’t think Hugo’s or Goofy’s heart is in this process any longer:

You guys are supposed to be crazy bangin’.

Later Ana discovers Chritian gave her hickeys all over her boobies so she will not be able to wear a bathing suit. She throws a hairbrush at him. He admits he did it because she took her top off.

I want to shout at him, but I refrain–I don’t want to push him too far. Heaven knows what he’d do, Ana thinks. Sounds like a prince, am I right ladies. Raise your hand if you’re the wettest of the group.

They eat dinner and Ana has deep thoughts: Will I ever understand this man? Hmm- this creme brûlée is delicious. Some other nonsense ensues that makes me wish I was born an amoeba that died two seconds later.

Flashback to the honeymoon time in London. We learn Ana shaved off her pubic hair. Christian laughs, and then examines the job. Of course I hadn’t done it to Mr. Exacting’s high standards, Ana thinks. Ugh.

He decides to shave her. Not in the tub, but on the bed. That cleaning staff is super lucky.

When he’s done with the trim, he has a special treat for her:

Actually he finger bangs her, but I thought this was more lovely.

You’re welcome.