despair

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 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 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.

A Pad of Plugs

Very intense episode of Bachelor Pad 3 last night, people.

Wait…what the bleep did I just write? I no longer know language thanks to my Fifty Shades recrapping so I apologize for any confusion I may have caused.

I meant to write: Everyone on the show is a butt plug.

Do I need to delve further or does that adequately sum up the second episode?

Well there was this:

It begins with every Friday night at every bar in America. Two drunk women are simultaneously crying and screaming at each other. “You called me a slut.”–“No I dint.” It’s fascinating. Except not at all.

It is the twins. They apparently argue a lot and drink a lot. And many of the reject bachelors and bachelorettes are annoyed by them, which says a lot since they are known as reject bachelors and bachelorettes.

This week’s challenge was selected to honor the Summer Olympics, says host Chris Harrison. And by honoring it, the Bachelor Pad contestants intend to defile it. The men and women will perform a rhythmic gymnastics routine. The worst performers will get an elimination vote cast against them, the best will receive an immunity rose.

Tony is not at all down with that. He wanted the challenge to be something more masculine or in his words, dude-like. I’m sorry to hear that Tony, but my main question is who are you? You are on this show? Okay.

So the routines are predictably awful. Erica Rose and Ed are selected as the losers, although really there are no winners on this show. Michael and Blakely win the immunity rose and a romantic three-person date just like grandma and grandpa and random guy 1 and guy 2 enjoyed in the days of yore. Michael and Blakely each have a rose they can give to save someone else.

Michael’s date is first. He chooses Rachel, Lindzi and Donna, one of the super fans. Donna, of the giant banana, digs Michael ever since she saw him humiliate himself on TV the first time.

The foursome arrives at a club, and it is obvious that the band performing has to be related to someone in the Bachelor franchise. I swear, more people attended my childhood play Who Done It? and that was performed in my grandparent’s bathroom. The lead singer emotes to the point where I fear I might see part of his lower intestine hanging from his ass while the crowd aimlessly mills around and watches Michael french kiss Rachel.

Donna, who declares this is the best date she will ever experience (Awww! So very, very sad.), tries to win Michael back by sharing a page from her Michael stalker notebook.

Michael likes it or he begins tonguing Donna to distract her from ever drawing anything again.

Michael gives the rose to Rachel. Next up is Blakely’s date. Blakely is partnered with Chris B, but Chris B. likes to make out with Jamie. He says it’s part of his “strategy,” keep friends close, but their vaginas closer.

Since Blakely has a rose up for grabs, he stealthily makes out with Blakely in her bed, which is a bunk bed she shares with Jamie. And Jamie sees them because duh. James Bond, this guy ain’t.

Blakely decides to take Chris B., Ed and Dave, the remaining male super fan, on the date. Dave almost starts to cry when she invites him, and, wow, do Americans just have so little to live for? Is this all there is? A Dorito taco from Taco Bell and the chance to go on a four-person date with a nobody? I am thoroughly depressed.

But I perk up when I see their group date is participating in a soap box derby or because I just finished half a bottle of wine. Could be the wine.

They decorate their cars and helmets. Dave goes for subtlety by making his car rose-themed.

Chris has a very measured reaction to that: “If David gets a rose, someone might die.” That would make it a way more interesting Bachelor Pad.

Dave has a heart-to-heart with Blakely and says he wished someone stood up for her on her last season, and his vote is hers. Meanwhile, Chris tells Ed he has no interest in Blakely and just wants the dough.

In a discussion with Blakely, Chris questions why she has trust issues. It’s really hard to be the biggest doucheball on Bachelor Pad–douchiness is a prerequisite–but Chris is close.

Blakely says she’s glad Dave is such a good friend and understands her so…dramatic pause…Chris will you accept this rose?

Back at the pad, people add semen to the bacteria-infested waters in the hot tub. The twins fight again and continue fighting through the night about really important issues:

One of the twins decide she’s leaving and since they play as one contestant, the other must depart as well. She says a tearful goodbye to Dave who is unconscious during the exchange:

Since the twins voluntarily left, no woman will be voted off. That leaves just the women voting for one man, and there is some pretend tension that Ed will be leaving, but it turns out to be Ryan, who wasn’t really featured on the show except to say he is a 32-year-old virgin. I hope he DVR’d that.

As I stated earlier, there are no winners.

Fifty Types of Butt Plugs (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 351-400)

We begin pages 351-400 of Fifty Shade Darker: Porky’s Revenge with author E.L. James’ favorite literary device–the email exchange.

(To find out how we got to this incredible email exchange, start here)

Ana and Christian email how much they want to boink each other, but then Christian starts to emphatically insist Ana use her BlackBerry to email rather than her work computer while he continues to send emails to her work email address. Normally I would ignore this in the same way I ignore references to Christian’s battering ram-sized pee-pee and Ana’s complaints about not being pretty–but this comes up later.

Jose calls to say he’s delivering Christian’s pictures of Ana and is looking for a place to crash. How will Christian like that? Ana wonders after hanging up the phone. Boooo.

Ana’s boss Jack Hyde is acting as if he caught his dong in a drawer. He snaps and demands coffee and breaks his “World Greatest Boss” mug.

Kate’s brother Ethan calls and asks how Ana’s doing. “A quick montage of images flashes through my mind–Christian kneeling, his revelation, his proposal, macaroni and cheese, my weeping, his nightmare, the sex, touching him.” Even better if the montage was set to the tune Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen.

Ana sits in Starbucks, puts in her earbuds, hits repeat on the song “Smell Yo Dick” and ponders whether she should marry Christian:

He still needs to learn boundaries and little things like empathy, and to be less controlling, Ana thinks. Is that all? Then by all means, take the plunge.

She’s late getting back to work, and Jack’s eyes almost blaze a hole through her head. He growls at her to stay late. When she complies, he tries to attack her:

He delivers the type of soliloquy normally reserved for the villains in Scooby Doo cartoons. He talks about checking through her email and seeing emails sent by her to Christian Grey, but nothing sent back. Are you a spy? he wonders. He goes on to say he expected gratitude for giving her a job, and if Ana puts out, he won’t dig in further into how her boyfriend’s pulling strings, milking contracts or cashing in some favor from one of his Ivy League frat-boy sycophants.

Huh? When did this turn into an episode of Melrose Place?

What can I do? Ana wonders.  This news of Christian’s takeover of the company is embargoed for three weeks.

Wha?

I feel like I don’t understand English. What is happening exactly? Can’t he just attack her because he’s gross…what is with this faux intrigue that makes no sense?

“Listen you tight-assed cock-blocking bitch! I know you have the antidote, but it’s mine, you prick-teasing bitch. Mine! And if you don’t give it to me, I will detonate the dynamite strapped to your vaginal balls” he spits fire.

Okay most of that I made up except for the words in bold. Those are gems from E.L. James herself. Ana knees Jack in the crotch, runs outside and collapses on the sidewalk because she hasn’t eaten anything. Of course.

Christian and his man servant Taylor run up to her. And get this–Christian is pissed. She tells him what happened, the near rape and bad dialogue, and he is pissed. At her.

And then he gets pissier during this exchange:

“‘Christian, he has my emails.’

‘What?’

‘My emails to you. He wanted to know where your emails to me were. He was trying to blackmail me.’

Christian’s look is murderous.

Oh shit.

‘Fuck!’ he sputters and narrows his eyes at me.”

Have they not read the same emails that I have? They basically email how much they want to entwine their genitalia or about other things too dull to recall. How is this blackmail worthy?

She begs him not to be mad at her!?!

“‘I told you to use your fucking BlackBerry. Don’t talk to me about stupid. Get in the motherfucking car Anastasia–NOW!’ he snarls and a frisson of fear runs through me. This is Very Angry Christian. I’ve not seen him this mad before. He’s barely holding on to his self control.”

Better not let that one get away!

Jack leaves the building with his belongings because he was shitcanned. “And I woulda gotten away with it, if it weren’t for those meddling kids,” Jack tells the security guard.

Christian’s surly and pouty in the car and only talks to her when they enter the elevator. His “hands fist” in her hair (ow!) and he jams his tongue down her throat. “If anything ever happened to you…”

Psycho…I mean, *sigh*.

They eat dinner and Ana requests permission to see her friend Jose. Boooooo. More arguing because this is such a Sweet Love Story™.

Christian has to do some man work such as pushing a boulder or raping a chicken. Ana, bored without anything up her cooch, wanders around the house and into the red room of pain. She looks through some drawers and finds Christian’s stash of butt plugs. Of course, Christian shows up because he can hear a butt plug pop from 20 yard away. Ana worries again if he’s mad.

He sounds fun.

Instead he gives her a tutorial on butt plugs, anal beads and nipple clamps. Ahhh, takes me back to 6th grade health class. For complete coverage, click on the audio.

This tutorial makes dark desire pool in Ana’s groinal region. Granted pretty much everything including mayonnaise being spread on a hamburger bun makes dark desire pool in Ana’s fun tunnel, but she really wants to bang some butt plugs together in the red room of pain:

Christian can’t–his eyes cloud with cataracts (seriously, his eyes cloud all the time. That can’t be good?)–Ana left him the last time he flayed her skin with a belt while in the red room. Yes, it was the red room not his beating her that was the problem.  They take the spreader bar and spread ’em in the bedroom.

Lots of arrghhing and slamming.

Next day, Ana’s all worried about her job. Christian lets her drive her new Saab to work. Boyfriend of the Year, am I right ladies? He’s in the passenger seat because she’s a dame and if she gets her period she will attract bears and then possibly crash her car into a Baskin Robbins.

She arrives at work and is immediately called into Jack’s boss’s office. She thinks she’s going to be fired, but instead she is asked to fill in as Jack’s replacement because with being a recent college graduate, having one week job experience and spending the majority of that time emailing her boyfriend about sexy time though the company email, she is obviously the best fit for the job.

I think the words “shrewd mind” were used, and I laughed so hard my butt plug popped out.

Fifty Pages of A Lot of Nothing (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 201-250)

Christian Grey buys Anastasia Steele a Saab to replace the vandalized Audi. If you want to know how the Audi was vandalized or who the bleep are Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele, click here.

They eat seafood chowder, drink beer and blather about topics no human is interested in at some pub on the marina.

They sail in Christian’s yacht. They drop anchor in a secluded bay and bang in the master bedroom.

They head back to the marina and eat dinner at a little Italian bistro next to the pub. Ana orders risotto. We don’t find out what Christian orders–Fuck! That’s going to be driving me crazy all day. More great conversation:

They drive back to Christian’s apartment. Christian’s tense because he’s worried about Leila still. They grind in the elevator. Ana flirts with Christian’s man servant Taylor and Christian sulks in the corner and sucks his thumb. They bicker about Ana going to work because of the “danger”.

They play a game of pool in the billiards room, and make a bet. If Ana wins, she gets a romp in the red room of pain. If Christian wins, he gets to do whatever. Christian wins. He spanks her with a ruler, and sticks his flesh pool cue in her flesh billiard pocket.

That’s all that happened, and somehow E.L. James manage to stretch that out for 50 excruciating pages, pages 201-250 to be specific. There is a conversation about car models and car colors. There is a lengthy passage describing the interior of the yacht. Everything is “all pale wood” and there are doors and steps and walls and air and atoms that become molecules and deep, fucking despair on my part. You would have to read it to believe it.

And that’s why I made you this. This audio track takes an excerpt from pages 213-216 if you want to follow along with your copy. Just to give you some background, they’ve taken six years of my life to get on the goddamn yacht named The Grace and now are finally fucking sailing it because jesus christ, who gives a shit:

https://speaker7.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/fiftyshadesdarkerpg213.m4a

Fifty Shades of Ewww (pgs. 401-450)

I’d like to begin this post about pages 401-450 of Fifty Shades of Grey with a public service announcement:

Please do not dispose of your tampons in toilets.

I know you might be in the heat of the moment, about to bang on the floor of the bathroom, but please dispose of your tampons in the trash receptacle. Or if you’re banging in a public stall, please use that little trash container that resembles a mailbox.

Why am I bringing this up?

Just wait…

So we left off with Ana hightailing it to her mother’s house in Georgia to get away from Christian’s log ride so she can think about their arrangement with some clarity. If you need to know how we got to this point in the story and hate yourself, you can click here to read previous installments.

Ana’s exodus results in heavy email action. When I read this, I felt like I do at work when someone sends out a mass email about something non work-related like joining a volleyball league, and everyone who replies back hits “reply all” rather than “reply sender” so I have to sift through 45 emails about “I’ll do it” or “Fun! What time?” or “I’d like to volley your balls.” And you feel like replying back “Can you not reply to all of us because no one gives a shit about your smiley emoticons,” but you don’t want to be that person, the one that causes that mass email “Jeez, what’s her problem?” to be sent out, and then you have 65 more replies to sift through. And they’re all filled with frowny faces.

I could just summarize and say they email back and forth about how much they miss one another and how much Christian wants to penetrate Ana’s down there, but then you miss out on the suffering, and that’s what this BDSM relationship is all about, gentle reader.

Christian signs off, saying he has to meet someone for dinner, and Ana deduces it’s the woman who made Christian a sex slave when he was 15. Ana calls her “Mrs. Robinson” because she is clever…wait, I’m sorry, I meant the opposite of clever, which is stupid buttface.

She finally decides to Google Christian’s name, which leads to the best line thus far: Holy Cow! I’m on Google! 

Yes that is sooo very difficult. That’s why I only got 185,000 hits on a search of images for projectile vomit. You know what’s difficult? Not being on Google.

While out for drinks with her mom, Ana decides to send some more emails (!?!) about her dislike of Mrs. Robinson and how it impacts her down there:

Christian instantly replies “I see London, I see France” and it turns out the reason he can see her underpants is because he has flown to Georgia and is presently in the exact hotel bar as Ana and her mom.

That’s so creepy hot and sweet!

They murmur and pout and grit their teeth and look at their hands and arch eyebrows and glower, and sulk and tap dance and help a Nigerian prince secure freedom, and eventually head upstairs to Christian’s room to add their genital fluids to the walls of the bathroom.

Ana’s on her period. God, I’m so fortunate to know this. Aren’t you? And that’s when Christian pulls out her tampon and flings it into the toilet. Please refer to the PSA at the top of the post.

They then commence the banging. Before he mounts, he likes to say “I’m going to have you ______” and then adds the location. We learn that his member is covered in her menstrual blood…that is my little early Christmas gift to you. Now I’m going to throw up off the porch and have someone snap a picture so it can be added to the projectile vomit archive. Holy cow! I will soon be on Google!

After all the sexing, Ana feels she needs to get to know Christian better. “What’s your favorite film?” she really asks him.

The section ends with them about to go gliding–hopefully directly into a ravine.

Only one more recrap to go!

Fifty Types of Vaginal Balls (pgs. 351-400)

We’re almost at the finish line.

Are we? I feel like I’ve been reading 50 Shades of Grey for 16 years enclosed inside a torture cage in one of those CIA black sites.

That’s really hot!

Shut up, Ana. Not everything is hot. For example, my life force. It’s nearly depleted. And mild salsa. That just tastes like tomatoes.

Okay, we are at pages 351-400, and so much has happened. You can read vivid recraps by clicking here or I can give a very short summary of the events thus far. Ana bit her lip; Christian arched and pursed his lip eyebrow; a well-endowed train slammed through a moistened tunnel; a rocket blasted into space and fucked a black hole with vigor; a clam shell was cracked open by a fire hose; an addled sock puppet said “crap” and “holy cow”; and Christian made Ana watch Love Guru as punishment.

The doltish duo returns from a night of eating food at a family dining table and screwing in a family boathouse. Ana wants to touch Christian, but he says “Ew. Girls have cooties and I’m 50 shades of fucked up.”

She says “What’s up, dawg?” He purses his lip and his eyes burn a hole in his pants. “I’ll let you spank me, if you tell me something painful from your painful childhood, dealsies?” Ana says.

Christians leaves for a second and returns with a box:

He sexily pumps the Play-doh Factory’s arm up and down.

Christian uses the special Play-doh shoe-horn to insert said vaginal balls:

Guess what? They don’t have sex, but instead use the vaginal balls to play a game of marbles.

I’m kidding. They do have sex because that is all they ever do. Afterwards Christian retracts his penis and says “My birth mother was a crack whore. G’night.”

The next morning they have desk sex in Christian’s office:

Ana meets Christian’s housekeeper Mrs. Jones. Christian asks Mrs. Jones to tidy up his collection of vaginal balls and Play-doh implements. Ana leaves to get ready for her two interviews. At one of the interviews, the boss’s penchant for cocking his head and arching his eyebrows remind her of Christian. Uh-oh could this boss possibly interfere in this fantastic relationship? I can’t wait to find out or I can wait to find out and spend the rest of my life never knowing. Yes the latter feels as right as a well-placed set of vaginal balls.

Ana leaves for her flight to Georgia to see her mother and think things out away from Christian’s gigantic member. She walks through the metal scanner. It buzzes. She deftly removes the vaginal balls and tries again. When she gets up to the check-in gate, she finds Christian has upgraded her ticket to first class and requested she receive a full body cavity search from the TSA. Ana is pissed about the upgrade.

To move the story along without all the sexy, holy-crap fucking, Christian and Ana sexily email one another:

Ana sends Christian a stream-of-consciousness email about all her deep penetrating thoughts about crap and stuff:

And that’s it. . . so many interesting plot twists, so many unanswered questions. Will Ana sign the dominant/submissive contract? Can Christian change and let Ana lick his chest hairs without cringing? What color will his cock ring be?

Till next time, gentle reader.

Fifty Ways to Truss Your Lover (pgs. 301-350)

How many submissives does it take to insert a butt plug?

As many as the dominant says it takes.

Bada-bing. I’ll be here all week!

Before this goes any further, I would like you all to address me as “Sir” in the comments. Or “Lord Voldemort” or “Rubberface Gimp Monkey” or “Chunkstyle”…you know what? Just forget it, I’m too wishy washy to make it as a dominant.

Don’t look me in the eyes.

In this installment of 50 Shades of Tears I’ve Shed, Christian and Ana revisit the red room of pain. To read how we got to this point, click on these recraps or do something pleasurable instead:

Before Christian can chain, truss, knot and braid Ana’s pubic hair, he first lets her visit a lady doctor to examine her nether regions and put her on the pill so he does not have to order elephantiasis-sized condoms from Oriental Trading anymore. The doctor tells Christian to look after Ana as one would a sweet, brain damaged dog. That is, like, so crap sweet.

Now it’s riding crop time! “He’s just sex on legs,” says Ana.

Okay.

Ana’s inner goddess has picked up a couple of pom poms and borrowed a cheerleading outfit from the set of Glee.

Christian peels off Ana’s clothes leaving her clad only in panties, and makes her kneel–eyes downcast of course–in the corner. No one puts baby in a corner says the ghost of Patrick Swayze.

Too soon?

Christian changes into acid-wash jeans (Holy fuck hot! Ana predictably thinks). He peels off her panties and sniffs them vigorously. I wish I was making this up, but alas, I am not:

He chains her up to a William Sonoma® pot rack and smacks her “down there” with a riding crop. Of course, this causes explosions to rocket through her body:

Throughout this panty-sniffing, Ana desperately wants to lick Christian’s chest. Hot, right? Sure.

Christian is not finished with Ana. He knocks her down like a piñata from the pot rack and secures her wrists with a cable tie. He takes her to bed and has her grasp onto the bed post. He tells her she has a “sexy ass.”

Christian takes Ana, panties-less, to meet his family for dinner. The Grey house is all wood floors and antique rugs with sweeping staircases. That sounds…weird. There’s no furniture? They mutter and murmur at each other. Christian’s sister Mia is a bit different in that she chooses to shriek her remarks. She is not a pomeranian puppy to clear up any confusion, but a full-grown adult woman.

Apparently there is a dining room table. They all sit around it and eat corn dogs–except Christian:

Ana’s subconscious reacts:

Christian becomes enraged when Ana tells his dad she might go see her mother in Georgia. He clamps his hand like a genital clamp on Ana’s thighs. “C’mon I wanna show you my spanking hand…er…rowing trophies,” Christian glowers and seethes. He takes Ana to the boathouse to have his way with her:

I can’t tell you how much this reminds me of the time I first met my husband’s family…well except for the rowing trophies part.

Holy crap farts!

Fifty Shades on Repeat (pgs. 201-250)

Ana agrees to be Christian’s submissive in the latest 50 pages of Fifty Ways to Describe Crap. For previous recraps that will not make you beg for more, click here, here, here and here.

This could probably have been completed in one paragraph–heck, one sentence even. I will show you.

“I’ll do it,” Ana says looking at her hands then biting her lip. Not the best move, glowers her subconscious, pushing her half-moon spectacles onto her face. Tra-la-la trills Ana’s inner goddess, churning her arms in the style of the cabbage patch.

I was wrong. It does take more than one sentence when you have to consider Ana’s multiple personality disorder. It takes three, but E.L. James manages to stretch out this decision for 50 pages.

There’s some lip biting.

There is murmuring and muttering interspersed with utterances of crap, holy crap and holy shit.

Eyes are flashing and hooded and unreadable and intense and grey-colored.

Questions remain about certain provisions of the BDSM contract:

There are moments when Ana feels as if her body is being electrified by Christian, which makes me wonder if he is actually an electrical socket rather than a person, and she is constantly being shocked when she sticks her tongue into it. That would make a much more interesting book, and explain Ana’s brain damage.

A bear shits in the woods. It doesn’t say that specifically in the book, but that has to happen, right?

There is the gnashing of teeth to break down food into particles for quicker digestion and then remarks of “Eat” and “I’m not hungry” and so forth. See:

So much of the same themes we’ve seen in the previous 200 pages, which is why this book would make the greatest drinking game of all time. Here let me show you:

That’s pretty much it. I do want to include a picture I took today of Hugo and Goofy since I posed them outside and I am 100 percent sure my neighbor was watching. Ana graduates with a bachelor’s degree in lip-biting. Christian, a huge benefactor of the college (the name of which I’m too lazy to look up), is conferring the degrees. This is where she agrees to be his submissive:

For the next 50 pages, I will be following the 50 Shades of Grey Drinking Game.