The Famous Ride of Rush Revere

Great news, everybody!

America’s favorite anal fissure is writing books for children.

Rush was inspired to write the book “to correct the historical record as it’s been distorted in the public school system.”

I get where Rush is coming from. I can imagine it’s very difficult to be a rich, white, heterosexual man in America–never seeing yourself reflected in the top leadership positions, never having your story heard in the history books, feeling marginalized by a lack of opportunities.

It is time for the real history to be heard and who better to tell it than the man who said “when women got the right to vote is when it all went downhill”?

Preach!

The basic premise of the book is Rush plays some heroic middle school substitute teacher who can go back in time with the help of oxycontin a talking horse. Of course, Rush would be a substitute rather than a souless public school teaching leech latched onto the public teat and beholden to the Evil Union Overlords.

Along the way, he attempts to score various opiates and boner-drugs from those time periods–oh and celebrate America’s exceptionalism.

The book was already Amazon bestseller before it was even released, prompting Rush to write more tomes for the kiddies.

Seeing how Rush views a big portion of the population–women, gays, African-Americans, Hispanic-Americans, all minorities, progressive thinkers, non-Dittoheads–I’m sure his view of history is likely the correct one, like when he said the NAACP “should have riot rehearsal. They should get a liquor store and practice robberies.”

Amazingly enough, I was able to obtain some galleys from his upcoming books.

Rush Revere Visits the Founding Fathers

Rush Revere Visits the Slave Plantation

Rush Revere Visits Women Suffragists

Rush Revere Visits Ronald Reagan

Nearly there, nearly there. Only a few days left in this hellish landscape known as NaBloWriMo. Speaker7 continues to plug away as a member of The Nano Poblano Team.

A Farewell to Penis

I’ve been having difficulty writing lately, and now I’ve finally figured out why:

I possess a vagina.

It gets in the way of everything. When I’m attempting to squeeze a big thought out of my tiny woman brain, my vagina interrupts the process with demands for chocolate. When I attempt to hold a pen using my weakly woman arms, my vagina shrieks about being too fat. When I try to write a post on Speaker7, my vagina threatens to set itself on fire.

It’s no wonder the ladies get paid less, amirte fellas. Up top.

David Gilmour gets it. He sees no value in teaching the drivel excreted by ladybits in his Big Dick Writers 101 seminar.

“Women be stupid,” Gilmour laments.

That’s a slight paraphrase. What he actually said was much worse:

“I say I don’t love women writers enough to teach them, if you want women writers go down the hall. What I teach is guys. Serious heterosexual guys. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Chekhov, Tolstoy. Real guy-guys. Henry Miller. Philip Roth,” Gilmour huffs whilst sticking his enormous plumbing into the biggest glory hole one has ever seen.

I should probably amend the paraphrase to add women and gays be stupid, but Gilmour is likely the type of specimen to think the terms interchangable.

Gilmour is able to stop masturbating over his copy of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer to give props to lady mouthpiece Virginia Woolf, stating “she made a mean bundt cake.” (slight paraphrasing)

O Captain! My Captain! …Shit! I’m trying to stand on a desk to salute this brilliant professor, but I’ve got my period and whole slew of laundry that needs a-washing.

By the way, what the blazing fuck is a woman writer anyway?

I’m answering my own question:

One who writes with her vagina.

This profile in misogyny made me harken back to my days of playing drums in a rock band that no one–apart from my parents and that guy at the bar–ever heard. I can’t tell you how many times I heard:

You’re one of the best female drummers.

I don’t know. . . is that a thing? Did male drummers have some sort of advantage by being able to use their penis to bang on the floor tom?

All great questions, but too taxing for my smaller, less interesting brain.

My vagina’s tired of writing anyways and is angrily demanding chocolate.

Fifty Shades of Bastardarized Boredom

My prayers have been answered.

Remember when I finished Fifty Sharts of Grey Goop and I declared “Holy twat-twizzler! Will someone please–pretty please with a butt plug on top–write some more words about an abusive douche and an empty space who murmurly sticks things in each other’s holes?”

Well Chrisward and Bellana are back! This time in the incarnation of Bennett Ryan and Chloe Mills. He’s a vampire billionaire media executive with a marbled sparkling body and flashing topaz grey hazel eyes. She’s the pfftt sound that comes from a whoopie cushion expelling actual gas.

And they bang. Their genitals. Into each other.

The book is called Beautiful Bastard.

That is a good title. And by good, I mean beat me in the face with a wire brush.

Two women are to blame for this current celebration of an abusive dickface. Remember how in the Declaration of Sentiments, Lucretia Mott had wanted to write:

Resolved, That woman should become wet and horny from being infantilized and humilated by a gorgeous rumproast man.

And Elizabeth Cady Stanton was all like “Bitch, please. That goes against the very nature of women rights.”

And Lucretia Mott was all like “Just you wait Lizzie. Women are gonna be down with this shit because the world is fucking ending.”

Lucy was right.

So I slogged through the first chapter.

Here’s the thing: My gall bladder has stopped working.

I blame Fifty Fart Nuggets. It turned my entire body into one giant vat of bile, and my little ol’ gall bladder couldn’t take it and has decided to secede from the sinking ship (I know I’m mixing metaphors, but I just fucking read chapter one of Beautiful Bastard).

So Benchrisward is a beautiful man, but has the personality of Newt Gingrich on his period. Chloebellana is his toiling intern who is not physically described. There is a lot of clenching jaws and stomach muscles. There’s wetness monitoring. There are flashing eyes and murmuring bungholes.

Then they boink in the conference room because…spahettios have meatballs, I honestly have no idea.

You can torture yourself here.

I checked on Amazon and it looks like the sequel is coming out in a few months. I’m sure it will be wonderful.

Lucretia Mott would be so proud.

Let’s Finish this Twat so I can be Fifty Shades Freed (pgs. 501-548)

This is it, gentle reader.

The end.

It took some time getting to this point. My brain has shrunken to the size of a vaginal ball. I no longer recognize how sentences are properly constructed. And I’ve begun to call the wart on my left thumb “my inner goddess.” I sometimes dress it in cheerleading outfits.

Since we’re at the end, I would like to let you in on a little secret:

I fucking hate this book more than I fucking hated the other two.

The other two sucked an electrified butt plug, but this book is the king of the shitheap hill. There was no reason for it–no reason for any of them–but really no reason for this other than for E.L. James to make a bazillion more dollars.

Let’s get this over with. We left off with Ana saving the day with her lima-bean-sized brain and gun-firing skills, her in-and-out-of consciousness in the hospital and Speaker7 praying for an early demise.

Christian remembers that his foster mother called him “baby bird,” and suddenly Jack Hyde’s ransom note makes sense.

I’m glad it does for you, Christian, since I have never seen or heard anything about it. This from the author who included Christian’s BDSM contract verbatim. TWICE!

Baby bird is from the book Are You My Mother? Christian explains. Jack knew he loved it.

Will you tell the police? Ana wonders.

Okay, stop. Let’s stop. What the fuck is going on? Why is this relevant? Anybody have a theory?

Thanks Hugo. Fair point well made ol’ chap.

Ana wants to bang, but Christian wants to talk about Mrs. Robinson raping him.

Awesome.

As a teen, Christian did yard work for her so he had money to maintain his drinking habit. Good thing that’s cleared up since he drinks daily.

He made some smart-ass remark and Mrs. Robinson slapped him. Then she kissed him and slapped him again like some cardboard heroine from a 1950’s movie.

“‘Well naturally I was confused and angry and horny as hell. I mean, a hot older woman comes on to you like that–‘ He shakes his head as if he still can’t believe it.

Hot? I feel queasy.”

Way to keep perspective, Ana. Yes this is the exact moment to get jealous.

Mrs. Robinson made the world make sense until Ana turned everything upside down with her super vagina and commendable lip biting abilities.

More blather about loving her so much and her being the greatest thing since the hot dog dicer. He then explains his dickish actions when she told him she was pregnant. He left to see Dr. Flynn, but Dr. Flynn was running the bake sale or some such made-up shit at the local school so he went to the salon to talk to Mrs. Robinson.

They split a bottle of wine since Mrs. Robinson was the one who got Christian to stop drinking. She made a pass at him and he was like ewww.

Ana wonders if they kissed.

Christian said he thought about junior Grey having relations with an adult, and realized maybe it wasn’t all hunky dory.

Christian tells Ana he wants to be the center of her universe, but knows that’s over once the bun is cooked in her oven. Ana platitudes bullshit about children loving their parents unconditionally. Um…other way around, tootsie roll, say all parents of teenagers.

A day passes. Ana’s horny. She decides to dress sexily and brush her hair sexily. She wants scrambled eggs for breakfast and this greeted as surprising news by all, except for me because I’m scraping a fork against my eyeball.

Argue-time over whether she can go to work. Then she sees he’s wearing pajama bottoms. I don’t know if they’re hanging off his hips in that way. Are they? Are they??!?!??!?

He’s staying home too to keep Ana under guard so she won’t get into trouble like put a fork in an electrical outlet or get into the cleaning supplies under the sink.

Christian starts to feel up her leg with Mrs. Jones in the room. Banter about wanting to screw, and Mrs. Jones is trying to hide her smile, according to Ana. I really don’t think Mrs. Jones gives a fuck, but okay Ana, it’s from your addled-brain’s point of view.

They go to look at the boring house renovations and have a boring picnic in the meadow. Uh-oh–phone call from Welch. Mrs. Robinson’s ex Linc was the one who bailed out Jack Hyde!

Holy shit! Wait–who the fuck is he? And why the fuck do I care? And fuck?

Christian will destroy him. Awesome. This is as compelling as if I learned Noah Logan was behind it all. Remember him? Yeah, I don’t either, but at least he made an appearance on one page in this book unlike the super villain Linc.

The bankrupting of Linc gets them all hot and bothered and they screw. It’s the same-old, same-old. Some hair fisting, teeth clashing, inflaming loins. Christian pokes his fingers through her panties, which causes them to disintegrate. (?) Guess what? Ana’s wet. Like always.

Two more days pass, Christian is playing his dopey piano, but not the usual sad melody, something upbeat “Pop Goes the Weasel.” Ana uses this time to compose a stupid email and sneak off into the playroom. End, goddammit! End.

Oh, it’s the epilogue – May 2014.

Everyone’s dead.

Unfortunately no. For some reason we go back to the time in the playroom, and they do it. Why this needed to be a flashback is something that will require me to travel to the year 2014 and flashback upon.

Back to the future again. Ana’s pregnant with second child, a daughter. She tells Christian that the baby is dancing and makes the completely appropriate remark: “I think she likes sex already.”

*cue the montage*

Then Christian says this gem: “I’m looking forward to the taste of breast milk again.” I’m so glad they’re able to find a use for their babies in their sexual escapades. That seems so….fuck.

They play with their boy Teddy, and the end.

Wait a second. . . I’m at page 548, and what is this shit? Shades of Christian? Oh no, no, no, no, no. Nope. You do not get to tack on your writing exercises at the end, E.L., for me to slog through after I just read 4,000 pages of your potato scrapings. No thank you. NO. No I do not need to read the first flippin’ book again from Christian’s perspective. Guess what, y’all. It still sucks. What’s next? From the perspective of the pencil sharpener?

Shades of a Pencil Sharpener

Holy cow, these two are fucking idiots. You’re damn right! Who said that? It’s me, your inner pencil sharpener. What’s up, dawg? You want to go sharpen some pencils so we drown out these morons’ hissing and muttering and arrghhing? Word.

(To go to the beginning of my decline, click here)

 

Fifty Shades Neverending (Fifty Shades Freed: pgs. 451-500)

Once upon a time, there was a little Speaker7 who desperately wished she never heard of Fifty Shats of Grey. But heard she did, and now as she clings to her last functioning bit of brain and the anti-freeze digesting in her stomach, she dreams of a mostly bleak future when Fifty Shats Freely will be finished.

Two more recraps after this one. Two more, her inner hellbeast thinks while its razor-sharp teeth cuts through the cardboard cut-out meant to represent Ana Steele Grey’s inner goddess. (For more brain-damaging fun, click here)

Now we’ve just experienced a litany of plot twists that makes me surmise E.L. James had no idea what to write between the clinking of genitals. I had you vote on what you thought would happen next, and the majority voted for Speaker7 drinks a fourth glass of wine. I wish, gentle reader, I wish. But alas that was not the correct response.

You must be wondering which one was correct. Or like me, don’t give a shitball of shit. Well I won’t leave you guessing too long. There is a Pad of Bachelors I need to recrap after all.

So there’s a kidnapping and Ana is trying to get $5 million dollars rounded up. Should I just stop here and say this is the worst plot twist ever? Or is that shooting myself in the foot because in the next 50 pages, Ana will be flying to Tibet to rescue the Golden Child from evil sorcerers?

Ana’s at the bank. She has Leila’s gun tucked in the waistband of her jeans. I will laugh so hard if she gets arrested.

The bank teller gives her an “insincere smile” which earns her the clever moniker “Miss Insincere Smile.” Hate. I’m feeling such hate at this moment. Miss Insincere Smile arches an even more insincere eyebrow, and what the fuck is that? What is that? How is that done? Miss Insincere Facial Features asks sarcastically “You have an account with us?”

FUCK THIS BOOK.

This does not happen. Maybe in the cafeteria of some 1980’s teen movie where the nerd can’t sit at the cool table, but then gets a new haircut and a pleather jacket and suddenly has an all access pass to Popularityville.

Ana’s vagina answers “This is the human encasement for the mighty Grey schlong.” Miss Insincere Gimmick gets all flustery and pees a little, and rolls out a tiny red carpet just big enough for a ruby-encrusted vaginal ball.

Ana gets passed along to the manager and there’s back-and-forth over this withdrawal being highly irregular, and I’m sorry the time this takes? Yeah Mia is dead. You had two hours, Ana, not two years. I guess the manager calls Christian when he leaves for the 18th time and Christian thinks Ana is leaving him and wants his money. He hisses at her to “take it all,” which must be hard because there are no sibilants in that sentence.

Nine more years pass, and Ana finally gets the money, but sees her security detail in the lobby. She is able to evade them by holding up a finger and mouthing “wait.” Seriously? She calls Jack Hyde and he says he has a car waiting for her. She goes out the back and it’s. . .

Da-da-dumbbbbbbbbbbbbbb!!!

Elizabeth.

Wait, who? I don’t know who this is. It’s Elizabeth from the office, Ana thinks. Still not helping, and I refuse to go back through any of the books to find a reference to her so let’s just gasp and say “Holy craptwats³!”

Elizabeth asks for Ana’s cell phone and throws it into the garbage. Who is this woman Ana thinks. Okay, so you don’t know either. That makes me feel better.

Oh wait, Ana does know her, but doesn’t understand why she’s helping the Scooby Doo villain.

Does Jack have some hold on you, Ana asks. Elizabeth slams the brakes and Ana goes crashing into the headrest. I’m starting to like Elizabeth.

They drive to an abandoned building. Jack is there wearing a suit, and “oozing arrogance and hatred.”

He beats Ana up. She hits her head on the concrete. Ana pulls her gun out and shoots Jack in the thigh and passes out to the sounds of car tires screeching and Christian’s voice. She eventually will be in and out of consciousness. *DingDingDing* This is the correct answer in the plot twist poll. Congratulations eight voters!

The hospital sequence is one million pages. Or it feels that way. She comes in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of conversation. Most of it is about how remarkable Ana is #bullshittheories.

We get to hear her stepdad Ray saying “If you don’t take her across your knee, I sure as hell will. What the hell was she thinking?”

Wha? Sure Ray is a piece of plastic wrap, but he was a little normal. Now he’s like Christian?

FUCK THIS BOOK.

Finally Ana comes to because of her need to pee. There’s a whole thing about Ana being grossed out by her catheter. For fuck’s sake. Then she doesn’t want to pee in front of Christian, and the nurse argues with Christian, and Christian eventually picks Ana up and plops her on the toilet. She can’t pee with him standing there. Well Christian isn’t leaving….and this goes on forever. And I just don’t relate. If I have to pee to the point of bladder burstment, I’m peeing. I don’t care who’s there. In fact I’m peeing in my pants right now.

There’s some blathering about “I love you” “No, I love you” and the ordering of chicken soup. It feels as boring as an actual hospital visit except you don’t get to distract yourself by occasionally glancing up at the Wheel of Fortune episode playing on the TV.

Christian enjoys watching Ana chow down so much, he begins masturbating. He relates how he knew something was afoot when Taylor called and said Jack made bail. Please continue to forget that Jack was remanded with no bail.

“I don’t know how Sawyer found me,” Ana dumbs. Um. . . because everybody knew you were at the bank?

Ana wants to know why Christian went to see Elena.

Christian crawls into her hospital bed (!) and promises to talk about it tomorrow. The nurse comes in and frowns to see Christian in the bed. Ana says “Don’t be a stinker, be a thinker.” (not really, but it’s believable, yes?) Christian mumbles in his sleep “Don’t touch me. No more. Only Ana.” There are so many levels of shits I don’t give at this point.

Ana wakes up, and Christian is gone. Her father-in-law peeks in, and they have this charming exchange, and by charming I mean I want to scrape my knuckles against a cheese grater a bizallion times.

“‘He’s a little mad at you, as he should be,’ Carrick smirks. Ah, this is where Christian gets it from.

‘Christian is always mad at me.’

‘Is he?’ Carrick smiles, pleased–as if this is a good thing. His smile is infectious.”

FUCK THIS BOOK.

Dear Every Character in this Book,

Please succumb to some flesh-eating virus.

Love,

Speaker7

Christian brings Ana breakfast and his peen hardens when she wolfs it down. Why so hungry little bird? Because I’m preggers you big dope. Ooh, the non-elephant in the room. They whisper and hoarse-talk–which is different then horse talk because there’s less neigh–about being frightened about becoming parents. You know who should really be frightened? Your child.

Christian wonders if butt plugs can substitute for pacifiers, and Ana says the child will love Christian unconditionally–unless Christian acts like he has this entire series.

Ana is given the all clear to leave the hospital, and Christian actually checks on the sexing status with the doc. Awesome.

At home, the enormity of the stupid plot twists finally hits Ana and she “keens quietly” again. That is amazing.

Christian picks her up like a child (actual description) and they take a shower together–let us all pray to whatever sky deity we pray to and hope that E.L. James no longer means the child analogy because holy fuck gross shitballs butt plug. Christian unveils why Elizabeth helped Jack. They had a sex tape together. He taped all his sexual acts. I don’t get this because usually that kind of thing lands you a reality television show in this country.

Christian also leans the connection between him and Jack. They were at the same foster home. Um…okay. Did he do this because the Greys adopted you and not him, Ana wonders. Sure, why not?

Ana thinks Christian should talk to his parents so he invites them over and it turns into a big party. Before I leave you, I want to illustrate how remarkable Ana is with this passage:

“(Mia) looks fine. Impeccably dressed in tight black jeans and a pale prink frilly blouse. I’m glad I’m wearing my comfortable wrap dress and flats. At least I look reasonably presentable”

Yeah, she’s remarkably awful.

Fifty Shades Buzzed (Fifty Shades Freed: pgs. 401-450)

Okay, gentle reader. I begin this recrap with a couple caveats. (For more recraps, click here)

First, I don’t know what caveat means.

Second, I’ve drunk two glasses of wine and am seriously considering a third because I am reading pages 401-450 of Fifty Shades Freak after all so the likelihood that this will be coherent is as likely as E.L. James writing an interesting book with non-butt pluggish main characters.

We begin with Ana curled up in Christian’s lap while he sends emails.

Just go with it. I feel it looks “artsy.”

Detective Clark wants to interview Ana about that fucker Hyde, Christian mutters through his clenched peen.

Detective Clark shows up. Ana blushes when she sits down on the hotel couch covered in her vaginal fluid. Clark tells Ana that Hyde said she sexually harassed him, and she told lies to get his job. He also said you were a stinky face and had cooties, Clark continues. Ana continually gives Christian charley horses throughout the interview to prevent him from beating Clark about the face with his testicles. After, Ana says Christian is very “sweary” and I’m very tired. More wine, garson!

Contrivance Ray is moved to a rehabilitation center in Seattle. Ana shows up to be weird and call him “Daddy” which he says he likes and…yeesh. While she leaves, she hears her name being called. It’s Dr. Greene, the roaming gynecologist. Ana’s missed four appointments and like Dr. Greene does with all patients, she’s tracking Ana down to say “Whas up, yo?” Ana’s scalp prickles so we know nothing good is coming. Dr. Greene just miraculously can do a pregnancy test even though I have to call 4 months in advance to schedule my regular check up, but I don’t have a Cadillac vagina. Ana’s preggers.

What? No. No. No. Fuck.  I’m imagining these are the thoughts of the fetus upon realizing the identity of its parents. Or it could Ana. E.L. James has purposely left it vague. Or she sucks as a writer.

Dr. Greene, of course, has time for an ultrasound. Why not? Does Ana want a vaginal facelift too?

“‘If you’ll just slip off your skirt, underwear, and cover yourself with the blanket on the table, we’ll go from there,’ she says briskly.

Underwear? I know, weird right? I always wear 10 layers of underwear during my gynecological visits. Don’t trust her Ana!

Ana’s worried about Christian’s reaction. “I’m fat and awkward, heavy with child. He paces the the long hall of mirrors, away from me, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the silvered glass, walls, and floor. Christian. . . “

Ana goes back to work. There are emails.

Christian collects her like Star Wars action figure later that night. She is wary. Christian demands to know why she is not as wet as normal. She also hasn’t eaten. “‘Do you want me to add ‘feed my wife’ to the security details list of duties?'” Christian bores.

They visit Ray. Christian and Ray talk about baseball, fishing and ejaculation–men topics. Ana says she’ll see him tomorrow That’s provided Christian hasn’t locked you away . . . or worse. Wha? I mean, I’m drunk, but even in inebriation I can tell that’s fifty shades of fucked up. Oh my god, do you see what I did there? I don’t either.

Ana finally confesses to the pregnancy, and Christian acts like a Newt Gingrich would about his 10th mistress. He snarls, his brow furrows, he says “fuck”, he closes his eyes, he has an anger force field, his “eyes burn so many emotions.” Then he leaves.

He comes back drunk. He sniffs her hair. He calls the baby an invader. Ana’s scalp prickles and she uncovers that he’s been with Elena, Mrs. Robinson, when she sees a text from her.

Yup.

So he’s a dick and she’s a wet piece of toast for 12 or so pages. Then we get the 125th plot twist of stupid. Jack Frost has Mia. Ana’s scalp prickles with ridiculousness because even her scalp is like “The fuck?”

So the “prick-teasing” gold-digging whore” has to pay some ransom or Mia bites it. Let’s not remember that Hyde was remanded with no bail because boo.

Jack wants $5 million, vaginal ball. No one can know or he will kill Mia and yawn…no more wine. I can’t drink anymore. That is the serious tragedy here, people.

Ana has to evade her security team and I just don’t want to read anymore, but what a vag-tastic (™sweetmother) plot twist.

What do you think will happen next?

Fifty New Plot Twists (Fifty Shades Freed: pgs. 351-400)

I have dreams, gentle reader.

My dream was to finish the literary anal fissure that is Fifty Shades Freed before my return to work on Tuesday.

But alas, this dream is dead as so many have gone before it. Why did this happen?

Because this book is too long and my brain is too worn-out like an overused vaginal ball. (For previous recraps, click here)

But let’s carry on because I will have to watch my child at some point. I know Hugo and Goofy are anxious to continue, right guys?

That’s the spirit.

For three sentences, things seem sunshiny in Ana Steele Grey’s narrow world of stupid. But then holy crap plot twist, fifty shaders, Ana receives a call from José’s  father that her stepdad Ray was in a car accident and lying in a coma of contrivance.

Ana does a few things that are pretty amazing in the sense that they are impossible. First she can’t reach Christian so she groans silently with frustration. How does one groan silently exactly? Then she “keens quietly” in the backseat. What will she do next? Scream peacefully? Hiccup voluntarily?

Christian finally calls and says he will have to meet her at the hospital because he’s hammering out some made-up business deal with the Taiwanese. Why do I know nothing about this? Ana thinks trivially. Because the only hammering you care about, Ana, is the peen kind.

She arrives at the hospital, and mutterly screams in her head about the last time she was in the ER for twisting her ankle.  She shudders at that memory. Yes, that seems really awful. I’m sure the guy in the ER who’d been stabbed multiple times really felt for you.

She asks for Ray Steele, and the nurse says let me check Miss Steele. “I nod, not bothering to correct her.” Wow, what an asshole to even have this thought. Ray’s lucky you’re here, Ana.

She sees José and Mr. Rodriguez, also named José (very inventive, E.L.), in the waiting room. José Senior said the car they were driving in was hit by a drunk driver. Christian arrives, and his face darkens when he sees José holding Ana’s hand. Oh for fuck’s sake.

He’s all up in her bizness about eating. The doctor arrives. “All the blood disappears from my head as I stumble to my feet” Ana dumb thinks. This actually explains quite a bit about Ana. And then she thinks this gem: “Under any other circumstances, I would have found the doctor attractive.” The doctor addresses her as Miss Steele. Mrs. Grey, Christian corrects because his penis is enraged.

The Josés leave, and Ana sits on Christian’s lap in the waiting room. Hmmm…that seems normal.

Ray’s out of surgery so Ana and Christian go see him. The nurse predictably gets wet at the sight of Christian Grey’s stupid face, and Ana has the generous thought of “Incongrously I’m thinking blonde is not her true color.” Can the drunk driver just crash through the hospital room now?

They check in at the Heathman, the setting of their first twisted encounter. Christian’s shaken because he normally sees Ana as brave and strong. Really? When? I want some muther fucking page numbers, y’all.  Because I’ve never seen it, and I’ve read over 1,300 pages of this twat rot. Oh dear christ…I’m going to go jump off a building.

The next day is Ana’s birthday. She is 3 in dog years. Christian gives her a charm bracelet, and I shit you not, one of the charms is an ice cream cone, a shout-out to the ice-cream-in-the-vag bacterial nightmare. She later thinks “Ben & Jerry’s & Ana” and I gouge my eyes out with blowtorch. He also buys her a sports car, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the brake line will be severed.

They reenact some of their finest Heathman moments. She uses his toothbrush. Gack.  She reminisces how she was just a 21-year-old butt plug then and now she is a 22-year-old prostate massager. She toots “I’m getting old.” Fuck you.

In the infamous elevator of tongue-jamming, the duo get all hot and bothered and jam tongues again.

After visiting with Ray, Ana meets Christian in the waiting room. He looks angry and is speaking a completely implausible one-sided phone conversation.

They go to lunch. Ana suggests the restaurant where they got back together in Fifty Shades Darker. “Do you think that supercilious fucker is still waiting tables?” Christian asks. God I hope he spit in your food.

They get ready for dinner and get on the elevator with two other women. The sight of Christian Grey causes the women to lose all their vaginal fluids. They also hate Ana. Yes ladies, he’s mine. Fuck fuck. That’s all I have just fuck fuck.

Christian has arranged a surprise birthday party.

At the hospital again, the staff encourages Ana to talk to Ray about her life to get him to snap out of his coma.

With Ray awake, Ana finally feels like really doing it, and yuck connection. She’s so turned on she even thinks Why are his feet so hot? Christian ties her to the sofa, and orders her to feel herself up. He bellows “Come on Ana!” and she does on cue.

And that’s where I leave you, fifty shader. Incongruously, I’m thinking this book is shitballs.

Fifty Shades Freed is Unreadable (pgs. 301-350)

For previous installments, click here. 

Dear E.L. James:

Ugh, this goddamned book.

I’m sorry I didn’t mean to start with a vulgarity, but I just read the worst 50 pages of sentences  you clearly shite directly out of your bottom onto a piece of paper.

This speaks volumes because I read Fifty Shades of Grey  in its entirety and the ice-cream-in-the-vag monstrosity in Fifty Shades Darker. I’ve been slogging my way through Fifty Shades Freed, the shittiest of the trilogy, since the beginning of August. Now my grievance is not that you are a terrible writer–you are–but that you have created the two worst fictional people on the planet.

Ana and Christian Grey are just…ugh. They are just ugh. The only way this book can be saved is if they drown in their own bodily fluids. Does that happen? Please say it does.

I understand this began as fan fiction. You were reading Twilight and masturbating with a  marbly, sparkling snow globe, and basically created sludge from santorum-like source material. Doesn’t excuse all the butt pluggery behavior of your two protagonists.

So I started pages 301-350, and Ana, Christian and their worshippers are at a club, and this is what I read:

And I just fill up with hate. I feel like there should be some type of reciprocity, like you should be forced to read the play I wrote in German in 12th grade or all my city council meeting newspaper articles.

Mia, Christian’s sister, wants to dance and “throw some shapes.” Yeah, that’s not a saying. Maybe in Britain, but not here, and if it is a saying in Britain, this is why America declared independence. Ana wobbles out onto the dance floor because she’s drunk the equivalent of four bottles of wine and weighs 80 pounds. Ana’s surprised she can suddenly dance since she spent the first 20 years of her life in a dog crate reading books.

Ana dumbthinks she can dance because Christian has stuck numerous objects in down there. Never let Ana be a dance teacher.

She feels hands on her and thinks it’s Christian so she grinds her butt into his groin. Nope, not Christian, just some random meathead. Ana screams and slaps him. The guy backs off and then Christian punches him after the fact. Unfortunately he is not arrested for assault.

Ana dumb wonders why she did it, and we get this chestnut:

Christian’s still mad, but he does some sensual dancing. They do everything, but peen-stick on the dance floor and Christian makes the loving declaration “No one touches what’s mine.”

Awesome.

E.L., you do realize that owning people is not considered cool? Like if any man ever said that to me, I would first laugh because obviously he had to be joking, and then I would leave because…gross.

Ana’s drunk. They leave. He takes off her make-up. They “joke” about watching her pee and I die. She’s mesmerized by his pajama bottoms.

He’s not going to bury himself in her tonight but he orders her to sleep. “‘When I come back to bed, I’ll expect you to be asleep.’ It’s a threat, a command. . . it’s Christian.” Jesus christ. Hate. Hate right now searing in my brain.

He buries himself in her later when they go through a rape fantasy sex game. Really, the worst 50 pages. Afterwards, Christian says something totally normal. “You confound me.” No one talks like this, E.L., no one. It doesn’t make him sound poetic or smart, it makes him sound like you’re a terrible writer.

At breakfast, Ana surreptitiously watches Christian walk outside with the help. He picks up a bamboo stick and swipes it. Oh…she farts out of her brain. Is this anything? Is he going to cane her or are we just wasting my goddamned time? I’m expecting the latter because you write as if you are recording the day to day events of dildos.

Ah wonderful! The motherfracking email exchange! And it’s like we’re actually at work with Ana. We get to experience her assistant coming in. Should we go over your schedule? Yes, cancel my 10:30…oh excuse me the phone is ringing. Hello? Oh hi Roach. Yes I’ll come up to your office in 20 minutes. She farts into a chair. You realize you can condense all this into: Ana goes to work. It doesn’t need to be seven pages.

Then more emails and at first I was really confused–oh excuse me, confounded— because they’re talking about events that I haven’t read about and then I realize this is how you’re showing the passage of time, and it’s just not necessary. No one gives a shit about any of this. He emails about some good time with vaginal balls at some Dipshit Association dinner, and other sexual innuendo that makes me believe you, E.L., do not understand innuendo. Pointless.

Then we get a visit from Leila the ex-sub who tried to kill Ana, and Ana’s like “What’s up dawg?” And Ana’s all confused that Christian has a list of people forbidden to see her. Really? I’m not. I’m just surprised Ana’s not stuck in some cage in his basement. The Leila visit is uninspired, and Ana has immature jealous thoughts through the whole thing and compares herself to Leila, and E.L., I’m sorry your world is so small. Lovely women exist in the world. I’m sorry you can’t see that.

Christian’s all angerball. He angrily murmurs and strokes his face with his slim-jim fingers, and pfftt. And you try to pass it off as him just wanting Ana safe. No, E.L., he’s an abusive prick.

Ugh.

Just ugh to it all.

With searing hatred,

Speaker7

P.S. Why is this book so mutherfracking long? I know it’s neat when you learn how to cut and paste, but that doesn’t mean you should cut and paste huge chunks of paragraphs and try to pass it off as something new. If I have to read one more time how Ana is spent after a bout of boring peen-sticking, I’m going to fly to England and hit you in the head with a sack of vaginal balls.

Fifty Shades Procrastination (Fifty Shades Freed: pgs. 251-300)

Oh boy.

So it’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve written a Fifty Shades Fuckadoodle recrap. Why is that?

Oh right because this book is the literary equivalent of a raging hemorrhoid. And like a raging hemorrhoid, this book inflames my anal cavity with the intensity of all of Jupiter’s suns combined.

Before I begin, I would like to direct readers to some truly phenomenal mockery of Fifty Shades on display at Alice at Wonderland. More people need to read this because it is the opposite of a raging hemorrhoid. Alice is currently recapping Fifty Shades Darker by interviewing E.L. James’ moronic fictional creations. For her earlier work on Fifty Shades of Grog, start here. Seriously, her recapping is so good, Hugo asked if he could work for her. Hugo believes my work has been “uninspired.” Wait–was uninspired what Hugo said?

That’s right.

I don’t even remember where I last left off (for previous recraps, go here). Likely Ana had Christian’s freakishly long fingers inside her. She might have said “Crap” or “Bloop”. Christian probably planted a flag in Ana’s down there to stake his claim. He might have even made a taxidermied hamster out of it. They most definitely muttered and murmured because no one can ever just “say” anything in this book.

Pretty much nothing happens in pages 251-300. The short summary is this: Ana buys a dress in Aspen.

The long summary is lots of sentences are written about other things. So I guess I’ll have to mention a little bit about those.

After Christian wouldn’t let Ana come, he tells her that Jack Hyde was the one who cut the brakes on the helicopter or whatever. Holy fuck. Hyde was planning on kidnapping Ana. Holy fuck. Christian thinks Detroit is the connection because both Jack and Christian were born there. Holy…pfft.

Just wait…it gets worse.

Ana wakes up to Christian having a nightmare. She soothes him with comforting words and warm milk. I’m joking. It’s a lot of peen-sticking. He tells her to “Come for me” and she does like a trained homing pigeon. Ana falls asleep then wakes up again to sad twinkle fingers on the piano.

Christian is the sad piano man because his adult wife “won’t do as she’s told. She drives me crazy. She safe-words me.” Aw, that’s sweet that he’s sad his wife called the kibosh on his emotional manipulation. He then says he dreamt she was dead, but leaves out the part where he was the one who murdered her.

The next day, Christian drives Ana to his lear jet. He has a surprise. He’s taking her to Aspen along with Kate, Elliot, Mia and Ethan. Ana dislikes the purring flight attendant because Natalia is brunette, and Ana is a raging hemorrhoid.

On the plane Kate asks questions about the Jack Hyde situation because she is as close to normal as you’re going to get in this book. Of course, Ana is all pissed off in her head at Kate’s audacity to question anything concerning Christian.

Suddenly the plane hits some major turbulence. The pilot loses control and the plane crashes into the ground.

Sorry, that did not happen. That’s just a dream of mine. I’m going to take a break for a second and play some sad piano music.

I’m back. What’s happened. Oh yes, the sextet arrives at Christian’s palatial Aspen house. Ana’s all icky-poo about being rich and having servants, and she thinkfarts Oh my, it’s so hard being rich. 

Upon entering the house, a trick wire is ignited and the house explodes.

No, that did not happen as much as I tried to will it to happen. I even bought that crappy book The Secret and tried to positive-think that into happening. Ana and the girls do girl things like shop and get paid less for the same work. Christian and the boys do boy things like fish and restrict women’s access to abortion.

Kate confides that Elliot seems distant, and Ana feigns concern, but secretly laps it up because she hates their normal relationship in light of the fact she married a walking butt plug. Mia convinces Ana to buy a dress–she refers to it as The Dress because she is a rectal sausage–that barely covers her ass, and she thinkfarts Oh, but I’m so plain and this dress makes me look like I have really long, perfect legs. I struggle so much…without Christian’s penis inside me.

The sextet eats dinner like humans do, and Elliot proposes to Kate. She accepts and then the restaurant explodes.

Sorry, more wishful thinking. They go clubbing, and Ana refers to the hostess as “Miss Satin Hot Pants” because she is Miss Asshole Face Jerkwad.

And that’s really it. An extremely necessary and illuminating 50 pages of hemorrhoid-inducing awesomeness. I should probably stock up on some Preparation H®.

Read This and Then Go To Childhood Relived

Minimal flogging and butt pluggery in this book, but still a craptastic read.

Check out my summary over at Childhood Relived.