Arbys

Well This is Embarrassing. . .

I nearly forgot today was my one-year blogging anniversary or as I like to call it blogginganniversary™. Please don’t tell my blog because it will be pissed.

Oh, I guess it knows now. Sorry baby. Look, I’ll take you out to dinner…any Arby’s you want. And here’s a fistful of dandelions I picked out of the sewer grate. Let me stick one in your hair.

All better.

I knew something was off-kilter. I watched a little Today show today, something I haven’t done in months. I learned Kathie Lee pees in the shower, and it made me actually like her a little.

See, I used to always blog about the Today show, and then a lightbulb went off because the bulb blew and I got a replacement bulb, switched it on and *bing* (or whatever sound an idea lightbulb makes) bloganniversary™.

Why have I been so absentminded?

Well, I’ve been reading and recrapping a horrible book and watching and recrapping a horrible reality television show. I have lost 15% of my brain matter according to a survey I took on an Arby’s placemat. I’ll admit I have not been my 100% percent self. More like my 75% self.

I likely need a refresher on percentages.

I had planned to blog today about the latest episode of Bachelor Pad 3 where the contestants actually create an entirely new STD out of chlamydia, herpes and Mike’s Hard Lemonade. But that will have to be for another day. Today is all about you, sweetheart. Or me. Is it us?

Them?

Hello?

When I started this blog, I had high ambition. I planned to change the world. That’s why my first post was on Facebook status updates.

Wait…was that my intention? Oh, right. I was bored. Kind of the same thing.

This past year, I feel like I’ve really grown as a writer. Why just last August, I was recapping episodes of Bachelor Pad 2. And now look at me. . . recapping episodes of Bachelor Pad 3. 

Maturity.

I don’t know what’s in store for this coming year. Bachelor Pad 4?

I cannot wait.

Happy Bloganniversary™ Speaker7! I mean me. Or is it us?

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Fifty Euphemisms for Sexy Time (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 101-150)

These recraps are becoming way too long. I normally write 500-word posts, and these recraps of Fifty Shades Darker: Return to the Blue Lagoon are topping 1,000.

I need to find some way to condense the fingering, swirling, licking, thrusting, uncurling belly desire, nipple-tugging, hissing, argghhhing, wetness-identifying, and sightless climaxing into a couple words.

Splooging? Clam diving? Turtle dancing? Thinking Arby’s®? Penvaging (a combo of penis and vagina)? Hmmm…I’m not feeling it. Please let me know which is your fav in the comments or if you can come up with something better, I will send you this autographed picture of Hugo. This recrap summarizes pages 101-150. If you want to read all the previous times of turtle dancing, click here.

I would like to include a fantastic summary of the second Shades book that was left in the comments by Jo Eberhardt of The Happy Logophile, a great blog that is not about turtle dancing:

“Hold on. I actually just feel the need to clarify the plot of the book. (besides the obviously craptastic sex, I mean.) So… Leila wants Christian (like all women), but he kicked her to the curb. So she left her husband, hooked up with another guy, the other guy died in a car accident, so Leila went to Christian’s place to slit her wrist, failed to die, saw an unidentified photo of Ana on the internet, used her psychic powers to track Ana down, picked up a gun and a concealed weapons licence from a box of cereal, and now plans to kill Ana?”

Yup.

Christian brings Ana to his house so she’s safe although that is the very place Leila  turned up so…good idea? She gets a haircut from a stylist named Franco. He speaks with an Italian accent: “My work ‘ere is done.” Hmm. I’m guessing he’s from the same part of Italy as Eliza Doolittle?

Ana’s mad. About what, I don’t know, because now I’m drinking. Not alcohol, mind you, Windex®. Ana pouts and acts in a generally childish manner, and I begin to wonder if E.L. James hates Ana as much as I do. Oh, she’s mad about the whole privacy invasion. Christian does background checks on all his submissives. He has a dossier with her birth certificate, social security number, employment records, etc.,–your normal boyfriend stuff. Romance!

But Christian gets Ana to lighten up by grinding his genitals against hers and this goes on so long that 16 years have passed and my son has graduated high school and I miss it. I give him this sad little “You go, sport” balloon in the shape of a football, and he takes it and says “Who are you?”

Other highlights:

Ana draws on Christian in lipstick to signify the no-touch zones on his back and chest. He doesn’t like to be touched there because his crack whore birth mom’s pimp used to extinguish his cigarettes on Christian. Then they think Arby’s® because nothing gets a girl hotter than child abuse:

Christian drops his semen-filled condom on the bedroom floor.

Ew.

Ana and Christian dress to attend a fancy schmancy charity event at his parent’s home. Christian wants Ana to wear vaginal balls. He gets out his Play-doh factory to make some. It’s a masked ball so the vaginal balls have little masks that make them resemble Angry Birds®.

At the ball, Mia, Christian’s pomeranian-puppy-like shrieking sister, introduces Ana to her friends. Most of the women are mindless, one is a total bitch–like all women, fellas. Am I right? Up top.

We get the whole fucking menu. The whole fucking menu!

Jesus christ, we get the entire list of items to be auctioned off too? Awesome.

What, we don’t get which person got which coat check number? Bummer.

The balls roll around in Ana’s down there. She wants to splooge bad. She asks Christian to escort her to the porto-potty for some hot, smelly clam diving, but Mia takes her instead. Ana delivers the vaginal balls into the toilet and tapes a segment of I Didn’t Know I Had Vaginal Balls, a spin-off of TLC’s  I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant Until the Baby Plopped Headfirst into the Toilet.

During the auction, Ana makes the winning bid on a weekend stay in Christian’s sex shack in Aspen. Christian’s pissed because women be thinking too much. *actual line coming up* “I don’t know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you.”

*sigh*

Ana, horny as a clam-diving turtle, opts for the latter because she is still numb from the vaginal balls and scraping her salad fork in her nether regions did not result in her release.

Uh-oh. It’s still auction time, although this auction resembles more of a livestock auction. Women are auctioned off for milk production abilities dancing. Most women go for a couple thousand, but not Ana Rose Steele. Christian gets into a bidding war with some unnamed character and buys Ana for $100,000. The bitch girl from before says bitchingly “What the fuck?” Ana’s like I’m all that and a bag of vaginal balls.

Meanwhile, the ghost of Susan B. Anthony punches a hole in a wall at her historic home in Rochester, NY, freaking the fuck out of a couple of tourists.

Ana and Christian leave the dance floor to commence with penvaging and that’s where it ends.

890 words…must do better.