boredom

The Boredom Continues: The Women Tell All

I missed the first 20 minutes. I was reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear to my son. It is infinitely more fascinating. Do you know that a red bird sees a fucking yellow duck!?!

Okay so I’m assuming the rejected Bachelor women are getting their chance to vent about  their total lack of judgment. I’m guessing because all I can see is an Olive Garden commercial and it looks very microwavey.

I forget that we began season XCVIIVCV of The Bachelor with 4,502 women. I recognize so few. Host Chris Harrison is attempting to stir the boring shit pot by bringing up the token villain of the show, Tire. Her real name is Tierra, but Tire is better. Brooke(?) gets real: “You’re upset because y’all didn’t also act like assholes and get more airtime,” she paraphrases before fading into further obscurity.

Chris Harrison polls the audience: What do you think about Tire?

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, it responds.

Chris Harrison sticks his hand down his pants and then asks “What’s up with the villain?”

Commercial.

We’re back. Tire is getting coached on the opportune time to show her sparkley vagina. The producers are trying to make us feel the Oz curtain has been lifted and we can see reality, but it still tastes like canned crab.

Now it’s Tire’s time.

And it’s . . . carhorn

I can’t find a better way to describe it. All I know is I’m bored and indifferent.

“And if she didn’t want be your friend, then walk away girls. And you were mean so blah,” bores someone.

“I can’t remember everything,” Tire tires.

“Did you stink eye people,” Chris Harrison asks because he gets quite a bit of money for this stupidity.

“I don’t do stink eye and say ‘Oooh,'” Tire pfftttss.

More banality and the end of the world and middle school ended two decades ago everyone. Congratulations.

This goes on for eons. The Bronze Age becomes the Iron Age. Chlamydia becomes super gonorrhea.

Tire was little Miss Nevada. This is your future, Honey Boo Boo. I’m so fucking sorry.

Tire is engaged to a gremlin. Chris Harrison is aghast that Tire dated it before The Bachelor since The Bachelor is all about twrue lurve. And booooooooooooo.

There’s 58 minutes left. Fucking hell.

Now on to Sarah, of the one arm. She watches as Bland rejects her for too much brains and too little limbs.

“You thought he was the one,” Chris Harrison interjects with a straight face.

“My whole life I’ve been strung along by dickwads and then after the handjobs, they say things aren’t right. Lies like flies, you dig?” she paraphrases.

“How do you move on from this,” Chris Harrison tries to create tension.

Fuck a duck, Chris, she basically says.

Does Splash look like the stupidiest reality concept ever? And I say this after viewing the majority of The Bachelor: The Women Tell All.

Now up is Desiree, the future Bachelorette, and her Bland montage. I’m as bored as the first time.

My recap of this is. . .cream of wheat. Cream of wheat is really blah unless you add something, and there is nothing to add to The Bachelor flavor of Cream of Wheat.

There are 45 fucking minutes left. Is time standing still?

I’m not going to make it. I know Ashley is up next–Ashley of the death stare. And then Bland will be there to bland it up with his blandness. Can we just assume that it will be boring and pointless so I can go to sleep.

Let’s.

This is the Sexy Part? : Fifty Shades of Yawn (pgs. 101-150)

Bam chicka bam bam.

Oh yeah. Things are getting really holy cow now, dear reader. It’s, like, almost as hot as that bachelorette party I attended where a guy showed up in a Domino’s Pizza uniform and shook his pepperoni stick, if you catch my meaning.

You don’t? Well in the next 50 pages, Christian and Ana get it on like a couple of glowering, muttering, feeble-minded, two-dimensional paper towel holders, and those things can f*** hard. If you wish to know how these characters got to this point, you can read my previous recaps here and here. These will be of no help.

Before Christian’s cartoonishly large penis can penetrate Ana’s down there (E.L. James’ vivid word choice, not mine), he shows her his red room of pain:

E.L. James describes this room as a big uterus that smells of Pledge® (slight paraphrasing). I hope my picture does her description justice.

Christian also hands Ana this:

Crap sausage, Ana thinks. I’ve gotta read something that’s not British literature!?! Poop schnozzle!

“Is there anything you’d like to add?” Christian asks, taking a sack of frozen dog poop out of the refrigerator to defrost.

Holy dog crap! Ana thinks and chomps on her lower lip causing blood to spurt all over the walls. “I haven’t gotten jiggly wiggly with anyone.” Christian smashes a crystal goblet against the fireplace. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me,” he growls (actual line from the book).

Christian decides to rectify the situation by making love to her lower lip and other parts of her body, specifically the down there part where the thing goes in and then goes out and then goes in again. Is it getting hot in here? I’m going to go open a window. Jesus Christ! It’s 95 degrees outside.

So yes, they do it and she gets tied up in her bra a bit–and fine–and he nibbles and fingers and jerks and leans and moans and growls and she responds with pirate noises. Seriously, she says “Arrgghh” a lot. Not as much as “crap” though:

He “pour(s) himself into” Ana a couple of times and then it’s beddie-bye bye. Ana wakes in the night to the sound of Elmo playing his out-of-tune piano. This is to signify that Christian is “sad”.

Next morning, Ana makes breakfast. Christian insists she eat the skillet and spatula along with the pancakes. Then with nowhere else to go, the author decides it’s sexy bath time. Ana impresses Christian by being able to insert his entire body in her mouth.

They continue the romp-in-the-hay in the bedroom. This time Christian ties Ana’s hands together with his grey tie.

Holy crap, you guys!! Did you realize his name is Grey and his tie is grey and this book is called 50 Shades of Grey. What do you think it all means?!?

I guess I’ll find out when I slog through another 50 pages. I need to rework  my Hard Limits for next time. This daily flogging is really taking a lot out of me.

Fifty More Pages of Pfftttt (pgs. 51-100)

Clearly I’m a masochist.

This explains why I was able to slog through nearly 50 more pages of Fifty Pffttt. The experience has been…what’s the word I’m looking for…twaddle waddle? Sure, that seems about right.

If you missed my first installment, click here. I don’t have the strength to rehash the beginning. The only thing I can tell you is that “crap” is a noun, verb and adjective. You are now caught up. Holy crap on a biscuit!

So let’s continue…

Christian Grey had just told Ana Banana that he is not the man for her, and her subconscious thinks Crap show. She receives a package in the mail. It’s a bunch of old Teen Beat magazines. It comes with this note:

She deduces it’s from Christian. She sends her subconscious a note asking if Christian likes her. Check the yes or no box. Her subconscious writes back Fuck you.

She tries to get him out of her mind by drinking herself unconscious at a bar. That sounds so good right now.

She ends up drunk dialing him.

Christian’s all pissed and demands she divulge her location. “Crap stick,” she mutters and hangs up. Christian arrives just when her male friend Jose tries to eat her chin. Ana spews everywhere. “Dios mio,” Jose stereotypically yelps.

She passes out to the sound of Christian sneering “Fuck” and wakes up in a hotel bed.

They sneer and mutter and blush and gasp at one another. Now it’s breakfast time. Christian is all up in arms about not wasting food and I get hit in the head with a very big foreshadowing hammer.

At various times, Ana’s subconscious wears half-moon specs and a red hula skirt.

Okay.

So she’s scarfing down food and then blushes and then stops to bite her lip. This sends Christian reeling.

Christian wants to stay away, but he can’t because he likes the smell of her blood the way she chomps down on her lower lip. They make plans to have dinner later in Seattle as he escorts her to the elevator. Once they board, the ions react with his Axe body spray and cause loins to start lubricating and Christian to speak inexplicably in weird staccato sentences.

Off the elevator, Christian is impassive and calm and cold and clinical and Ana is confused and confounded and confuddled and concrapped.

He takes her in his own private helicopter and flies her to his home in Seattle. They talk about control and soaring and concentration and I get another blast by the foreshadowing hammer and I say “Thank you sir, may I have another?”

His house is big, like really big, like, big like a big house that has big rooms in it. Before he can, in his words “fuck hard,” he wants Ana to sign a document.

And that’s where I leave you today. I’m going to go locate that hammer.