Christian Grey

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®.

Ibex Peen and Perfume: New York Travels

I actually left my home and laptop, and traveled to New York City this past weekend.

It was weird. There was the outside and real people and very limited access to wireless networks so I could not check my wordpress site stats every five minutes like I typically do.

I met up with my two closest friends from college. We are getting old, and at one of our “Jesus Christ, we’re this old now?” celebrations–otherwise known as a birthday–we made a solemn alcohol pact that we would go on a trip every year.

This is the first.

We stayed at the Millennium Hotel near Ground Zero. I don’t have a picture of it, but I do have this:

This is my foot. I was trying to take a picture of the view. This would be the view of a bed bug sitting on top of my head.

I had just lasted six hours on a train without Internet access so I was eager to tap into the free wireless access at the hotel. No such thing in NYC. You had to pay, and considering I just doled at $4 for a tub of lip balm fit for a Barbie Doll, I figured wireless access might be a tad pricey.

We ate at a Korean restaurant the first night. I don’t remember the name because I am American and if it doesn’t say “McDonald’s” then I will not remember it so let’s just say I went to a non-McDonald’s. I don’t have a picture of my dinner, but I do have this picture I took at the Museum of Sex:

Every guy’s fantasy.

Incidentally that is not what I had for dinner.

The second day was all about seeing the sites. We stopped in a perfume shop that likely had a name, but I’ve forgotten it. The perfume was costly, like 40 tiny tubs of lip balm. I asked the saleswoman if she would be interested in developing a Christian Grey scent with me. In the Fifty Shades trilogy, Ana is always going on about the fantastic smell wafting from Christian’s body. She describes it as the “Christian smell,” which is pretty descriptive. The saleswoman asked me what that smell is and I said I believed it was a combination of Axe body wash, lube and vag-flavored ice cream. She asked me to leave.

Spritz some perfume to say a prayer for the creation of “Christian Grey Dildo Butt Plug Scentasm.”

We trekked to the Empire State Building and were immediately accosted by a bunch of people in blue vests. One blue vester had the better ticket deal, he insisted. If we purchased tickets inside the building, then we would have to wait 16 hours standing on hot coals while shadowboxing roosters. If we bought from him, we just would have to pay more. Not a bad deal.

We bought tickets inside.

The view. Not my foot.

Here are my friends:

I also do weddings.

We saw the New York Public Library…

Me and the lion who starred in Ghostbusters.

And Central Park.

Me and a fern?

A butterfly landed on my foot and made love to it for several minutes. No one seemed to care. That’s New York for you.

The butterfly moves on to make sweet love to my friend’s hand. I’ll admit it. I felt used. And a little jealous.

We had an encounter with “Joke Man,” a guy who tells jokes for $1. I warned him that I was humorless.

We had a fantastic dinner at some Italian restaurant. You should really try it if you’re ever in NY. I cannot remember the name or begin to tell you where it’s located, but check it out. I don’t have a picture of my meal because it was dark and my belly was full of Chianti and despair over making joke man displeased. But I do have this:

Bed bug peen at the Museum of Sex. This is the main reason you want to avoid bed bugs while in NY.

Incidentally I did have bed bug peen for dessert.

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.

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.

Fifty Shades Fried

If you’ve been following my saga of self-flagellation, you would know that I have reached the third book in the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy.

(If you have not been following and only clicked on this blog because you like fried shades, you can catch up here.)

Holy cow, gentle reader, it’s been…um…what can I say? Nearly as thrilling as the time I covered a greased piglet race at the county fair? Sure, why not. And those piglets were as sexy as a cup of hot crap, which incidentally you could get deep-fried.

I feel–to use the parlance of reality television– this journey™ must continue. It’s a journey fraught with obstacles. Clearly my ability to use English has suffered from this experience. Me is dummer than me was. My response to everything is “Holy cow” and just the sight of Ben & Jerry’s gives me a yeast infection, but continue on I must.

Jules of  Go Jules Go warned me the third book is not as smooth sailing as the other two. Considering there were times I would have chosen a sriracha sauce enema than read any further, I am worried I will not see this through.

But yet I am curious to see what happens to Anastasia Steele and Christian Grey. Wait, is curious the right word? I think I meant to say I am completely dead inside.

When we last left the most fantastic, incredible, beautiful, vivacious and other synonyms for dim-witted couple, they were about to legally fuse their genitalia together. Elena, Christian’s former dominant, is out of the picture, cast aside after she called Ana a lamo (WordPress autocorrected that to lamp, which also works). Ana’s former rapey boss Jack Hyde is out to get Christian and Ana, and failed to kill Christian by cutting the brakes on his helicopter or whatever implausible nonsense blah-blee-bloo.

So in this book, they should be all happy slappy, right? Well let’s find out what our two stars predict will happen:

There obviously has to be some kind of conflict, right?

Fair point. But there has to be something that happens–besides the two main characters glowering and muttering at one another and sticking things up their holes. I mean, look, this book is…578 pages long!! Are you fucking kidding me? It’s longer than the other two?!? Oh craptwat.

You know, you might be onto something, Hugo. Maybe it won’t be as bad as I really, really think it will be.

Fifty Shades Dumber (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 451-544)

This is it, gentle reader. The dark shade will be lifted and we can walk into the light together. Or at least go outside and stick a toe on a blade of grass and then run back inside and bathe in the light of the TV.

What am I blathering on about? I honestly don’t know because 10 minutes ago some fluid and brain bits streamed out of my ears when I hit the last page of Fifty Shades Darker: The Edge of Reason. I tried scooping some up and slapping it on my head, but I still feel really, really stupid. So what better time to wrap up this final recrap?

(For previous installments, click here)

Holy crap plausible plot twist! We begin on page 451 with the horrible news that Christian’s helicopter, the Charlie Tango, is missing! And it could have fallen down that well!

Ana is so upset that she can only muster a description of the flames in the fireplace as dancing and weaving “bright blazing orange with tips of cobalt blue.” She wishes she could rub her lady bits against Christian’s meat sword in front of that fire.

More reminiscing and flash-backing ensues:

We learn the many sides of Christian Grey: “control freak, CEO, stalker, sex god, Dom.” By all means, someone find him–fast!!

Then Christian appears. His family embraces him. He locks eyes with Ana and narrows them when he sees Jose holding her hand. Do you see how a near-death experience changes a fella?

We get the riveting helicopter story: fire goes bla-bloom and chopper goes wah-wah and bippety bop flop. Christian and his number 2, Ros, landed on an island with a smoke monster, and walk back to civilization. Walking was slow because Ros was wearing heels, that fucking bitch. Cell battery’s dead. Couldn’t stop to call because he figured Jose was raping Ana in his absence.

Everyone, but Jose, leaves when Christian pulls Ana into his lap like a baby.

Okay…um…weird. We’re out, Christian. Glad you’re safe, says Christian’s dad.

Jose decides to go to sleep when Christian starts thrusting his hands in Ana’s hair.  Christian wants to shower. Ana’s wrapped around him like a barnacle, and for some reason he cannot move because he’s holding his jacket. I can’t explain it, and I’ve read it three times. He won’t drop his jacket because he has the wrapped birthday present from Ana inside it.  He opens it, and it’s a key chain from Oriental Trading Company that reads “Butt Plug of the Year.”

“Turn it over,” Ana whispers.

On the back, it says “Yes.” Ana has accepted his marriage proposal, and it’s just as lame as expected. They head to the shower and talk about expectations as a married couple.

I’m joking. They bathe in their bodily fluids.

Christian remarks how the keychain is better than some signed kick boxer poster he has. Wow, what a compliment. I think I’ll tell my husband I like my engagement ring better than that Call of Duty™ throw rug I almost won at a county carnival.

Next morning Ana makes Christian breakfast. Jose is already there masturbating into his oatmeal. They have a normal conversation about Ana’s great love for Christian, and then Christian shows up and I’ll let Ana describe him:  “Holy fuck, he’s wearing only pajama bottoms that hang in that totally hot way off his hips.” I understand most of the general public wears its pants around its collective neck so that does sound hot. He swaggers around and freely sprays pee to mark his territory. Jose passes on breakfast after Christian pees on the omelette.

Christian asks about Jose’s plans. Jose is going fishing with his dad and Ana’s step dad Ray. Jose and Christian bond over men stuff like man caves and war. Ana thinks: “They’re talking fishing. What is it about fishing. I have never understood it.” Well Ana, fishing is a sport that entails the use of poles and bait to attract fish. Fish live in water. Humans live on land. Sometimes humans eat fish.

Jose leaves, and Ana wants to give Christian his other two present because “(t)he thought of my present is burning a whole in my consciousness.” That might need medical attention. That sounds like an aneurysm.  The second present is a toy solar-powered helicopter. He sets it in the sun and the rotors start to spin.

“Look at that. What we can already do with this technology,” Christian murmurs in awe. I have a feeling Christian would be impressed by one of those matchbook-sized sponges that expand into a full-size sponge when you dunk it in water. The things we can do with technology these days.

Ana wonders if Christian’s helicopter, the Charlie Tango is salvageable. Christian hopes so because he misses her. And Ana predictably feels jealous of a mode of transportation.

The next present is an eye mask, nipple clamps, a solar-powered butt plug and a key to the red room of pain. Christian asks if there’s anything Ana won’t do, and she says she wants no photos, eluding to the box of illicit photographs she found. The butt plug she chose was too big, another one is too small, but Christian’s pinky finger is jusssssssst right! Ana gasps “Fingers. . . there?” Yes a butt plug is just so normal, but a finger? Heavens to betsy!

Christian chooses a different set of nipple clamps, and Ana frowns thinking he knows just so much more than her. She only out bests him in cooking. Well dang, woman, you’re a woman. What did you expect? You might also be better at sewing and getting paid less, so buck up!

Ana notices all the canes have vanished from the room. She wonders if Mrs. Jones the housekeeper removed them to be polished along with the silver. Christian cuffs and blindfolds her.

He pours oil over her and has her suck on a pacifier-shaped butt plug that vibrates. He inserts the plug in her hoo-hoo and sticks his finger in her butt. They do it again and Ana has another epiphany of the many shades of Christian Grey. . . “the sweet, gentle persona, his rugged, I-can-do-what-I-fucking-well-like-to-you-and-you’ll-come-like-a-train Dominant side–his fifty shades–all of him.”

I’m beginning to see many sides to author E.L. James. The I-just-write-whatever-pops-in-my-head-and-people-will-lap-it-up-like-a-big-pail-of-dirty-butt-plug-cleaning-fluid writer and the shitty writer.

Lots of filler. Ana makes dinner. Christian thinks her skirt is too short. He calls Ray and asks for Ana’s hand. Ray is skeptical but thinks Christian is a nice guy and knows fishing.

And more filler. Christian asks Ana why she brought up taking photos before he greased her butt crack, and she mentions finding his stash of photographs. He said they’re for insurance so his subs won’t expose him. “The penny drops and rattles uncomfortably around and around in my empty head.” Explains so much about Ana.

She bakes him a cake. He says it’s evocative. Oh yes, the crack whore birth mom baked. How…nice?

They head to a birthday party at Christian’s parent’s house. Kate makes a beeline for the couple, and snarls she needs to talk to them. She has read the email Ana sent with questions about the BDSM contract. Ana is pissed at Kate for being concerned because she is in an abusive relationship lurve and that contract was, like, so two weeks ago.  Old news, yo. Kate actually apologizes to them. And to Christian twice because she is a terrible friend to question his desire to control Ana’s body, mind and spirit.

Party time. Elena’s there. And the blonde server who wants to serve up her vagina to Christian. Ros is there as well, but she is the only non-related woman who doesn’t salivate over Christian’s elephant penis…and that’s because she’s a lesbian. Yup.

Christian makes his big announcement:

Both Ana and Christian are pissed when his sister Mia asks about a ring and a date. Yes, what completely inappropriate questions. These two butt plugs are made for each other.

Dr. Flynn is there too with his wife. “Glad you’re still with us, Christian,” Dr. Flynn says. “My life would be most dull–and penurious–without you.” Does anyone else get the sense that E.L. James wrote this with a giant thesaurus on her lap? It just seems so..um..penurious? And..um…dum. I need to get a thesaurus.

Elena confronts Ana and begins to assume the persona of a police officer in a third-rate cop show. “Not so fast missy… You’re making a big mistake here lady.” When Elena calls Ana a “mousy little gold digger,” Ana throws a drink in her face. Christian turns up and Elena wants to be the only vaginal-ball-wearer in his life. Christian’s mom overhears the whole exchange and kicks Elena out. Ana makes a beeline for Christian’s bedroom and gathers up the courage to look at the photograph of his crack whore birth mother.

Phew! She is so not prettier than me, Ana thinks.

Christian finds her and they talk about Ana’s need to eat. Oh thank god, I was hoping that would come up again since it never comes up except all the time.

He takes her to the same boathouse where he angrily pounded her when she wouldn’t let him finger her at the dinner table. This time, the boathouse is filled with flowers and he gives her a ring.

It’s not the end though.

The whole book is from Ana’s first-person perspective, i.e., the penny rolling around in an empty head, but now we switch gears to third person from the perspective of a mysterious man who is clearly Jack Hyde. He is sitting outside the Grey mansion in his car.

Things we learn:

  • He tampered with the helicopter
  • Grey’s a prick and doesn’t know jack shit. (I think that’s a clue!!)
  • Mystery man was from the gutter end of Detroit
  • Ana’s a little bitch.
  • Mystery man’s ribs still hurt from the rib-kicking from the prick’s henchmen.
  • Grey is a mother fucker who will get it good.
  • I do not want to read the third book.

Fifty Mood Swings (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 401-450)

Ana calls Christian with the news of her promotion in the beginning of pages 401-450 of Fifty Shades Darker: Meet the Fockers. She worries that he pulled a few strings since he orchestrated the take over of the publishing company, but he is as surprised as the rest of the universe.  

(If you feel the need to torture yourself and want to know how we get to this point, click here)

Apparently Jack really rated me,” Ana tells Christian.

Do you mind if we pause for a second, gentle reader?

First, I don’t know what that means. Did Jack give Ana a movie review of two dongs up? Second, Jack was fired the previous night for trying to attack Ana. I’m just thinking that’s the reason based on the fact that Jack tried to blackmail Ana into sex and then Christian had him fired. Does anyone else find it strange that Jack’s opinion of Ana–oh excuse me, rating of Ana–would be influential in her promotion?

Well Bob, Jack gave Ana, like, five stars on that rating card. 

Hmmm you don’t say, Bill? Wow, that’s fantastic as crap. Who’s Jack again?

Bob, Jack’s the guy we just fired for attempted sexual assault.

Ooh, bummer, Bill, but I guess we should still take his judgement into consideration.

Let’s continue. Christian becomes frosty for one second then caring the next second then pissed the third second and then loving the last second. A toddler hyped up on pixie sticks is more even-keeled than Christian Grey.

Ana forgets she made a lunch date with Christian’s sister Mia. Kate’s brother Ethan turns up conveniently and Ana foists Mia off on him by giving him the “biggest-bluest-longest-eyelashed look.” How is this book popular? Seriously world. I’m giving you the biggest-stinkiest-hairest-eyeballiest hairy eyeball look.

Christian sends her roses and emails something insinuating he wants to fuck outdoors. Fantastic.

Next up is the meeting with Christian’s therapist Dr. Flynn. Ana is pissed that the female receptionist greets Christian warmly. Ana says the office has the atmosphere of a “gentlemen’s club” so I take that to mean strippers and sticky chairs and floor.

Ana wants to talk to Dr. Flynn in private, and Christian is very accommodating of that. Just kidding. He pouts and acts surly like he does 95 percent of the time.

Dr. Flynn explains he’s using the therapy SFBT–Super Fun Butt Teasers for the lay person. Christian has a lot to deal with like his haphephobia, Dr. Flynn explains. Ana immediately thinks Dr. Flynn is talking gay stuff and is relieved when she learns it means fear of being touched because she is the worst.

Dr. Flynn now addresses Ana’s central issue–her brain stem not connecting to her spinal cord Christian’s sadism.

People change, is basically what Dr. Flynn says. “After all what you’re asking for is not unreasonable,” he says. Ana flushes and thinks No, it’s not unreasonable, is it? I just slammed my head into the dining room table, gentle reader, but I’m okay.

Then she digs out this chestnut: “Part of me thinks if he wasn’t broken he wouldn’t want to be with me.” Yikes. Seriously, yikesville.

Before Dr. Flynn can sign Ana up for a year’s worth of sessions with Stuart Smalley, Christian comes back in glaring at both of them, and then perks up and says “Let’s go celebrate your promotion.”

She wants to drive to their celebration, and he doesn’t want her to, but she does want to and this fight goes on and on while the theme song from The Itchy & Scratchy Show plays on repeat in my head. She drives and then pulls over so she can look at him while they talk about Dr. Flynn. They fight and glare and smolder. Then Christian drives fightely.

We’re treated to this very necessary observation:

“Whoa. I’ve never heard him sing, not even in the shower, ever. I frown. He has a lovely voice–of course. Hmm…has he heard me sing?”

WhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhyThanks!

They arrive at a house. A woman opens the door and predictably flushes when she touches Christian. Were you aware that Christian Grey is the finest specimen of shit bag on the planet? Ana sees the “biggest rug I’ve ever seen.” Mmm. Tell me more. Ana looks out the window and my eyes begin to bleed into the cerulean sky as I read this: “Vermilion hues bleed into the cerulean sky, with opals and aquamarines, and meld with the darker purples of the scant wispy clouds and the land beyond the Sound.”

Dear E.L. James,

Never try to describe a sunset again. Just write: The view was neat.

Sincerely,

The earth

Christian wants to buy the house for them.  “Christian you had me at cock ring meadow,” Ana platitudes. Christian is so happy “his hands are suddenly thrusting into (Ana’s) hair.” What is it with the hair fisting and thrusting?

More celebrating at the Mile-High Club, which Christian owns, obvs. He tells Ana to take off her panties. She does in the bathroom while her inner goddess struts around in a pink feather boa, diamonds and fuck-me shoes.

Okay.

She sits next to him, and he alternates between rubbing his thighs and feeding her oysters. He refuses to touch her. This is “sexy.” Ana assumes the mating position by raising her rear quarters and unleashing a torrent of spray, but Christian still won’t touch her.

He wants her to eat. Surprise! She doesn’t want to because she’s hungry for some grey bologna.

She tries to seduce him by eating asparagus and having her urine smell musty, but he rips it from her hands. “(Ana) feels like a child who has been denied candy.”

Excuse me for one sec…I just need to puke a little.

When she finishes her plate, Christian says “Good girl.” Pause again. Just some stomach bile this time.

Then he finger bangs her in the elevator with a bunch of people around. It’s just dry heaves. I have nothing left to bring up.

Christian wants to cock bang at home, but worries they’ll only make it as far as the car. Ana wants to get the gear shift implanted in her butt, and Christian feigns horror at her audacity. And then this completely comprehensible exchange happens:

“‘I’ve never had sex in the car,’ I mumble. Christian halts and places those same fingers (ewwww) under my chin, tipping my head back and glaring down at me.

‘I’m very pleased to hear that. I have to say I’d be very surprise, not to say mad, if you had.’

I flush, blinking up at him. Of course; I’ve only had sex with him. I frown.

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘What did you mean?’ His tone is unexpectedly harsh.

‘Christian, it was just an expression.'”

So that was normal, right?

Now they’re in the apartment. He’s about to plow, and she’s “aware that the usual vase of flowers is missing. Huh?” And that is so relevant because….um..

Then there’s just some good love making. He yells at her “Open your eyes!” and when she doesn’t comply quickly enough, he thrusts “sharply into (her) so that (she) cries out.”

“I blink my eyes open, and he stares down at me wide-eyed. Slowly he withdraws, then sinks into me once more, his mouth slackening and then forming an Ah.” For some reason, this scene reminds me of A Clockwork Orange:

This is “sexy.”

The next day, Ana thinks of another birthday present for Christian. She goes into his closet for one of his ties and finds a box of illicit photographs from the red room of pain. That woman with the genital clamp on her face is so much prettier than me, Ana thinks.

Vermilion ones bleed with cerulean zeros into a meld of words and sentences sent through the darkest purples of cables into the opal networks and aquamarine BlackBerry devices of Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele. Or they send each other emails.

Christian doesn’t reply to the last missive about whether one can really look at clouds from both sides now. Ana begins to worry, and worryingly has drinks with Jose and some other people.

I’m worried I won’t finish this book because of the vomiting.