recap

A Pad of Rivals

I’m taking a momentary hiatus today from my Fifty Shades community service obligation to attend to an important issue. Don’t worry, gentle reader, I am almost certain Ana and Christian are happily poking things in their respective holes while I focus on something else.

So much has happened last night, and it would be amiss not to talk about it.

Bachelor Pad 3 premiered.

I’m going to give you a few seconds to let that sink in.

Wait–there was a Bachelor Pad 1 & 2?

Yes! But this one is waayyyyyyyyy more bachelorey. According to Doris Kearns Goodwin’s A Pad of Rivals, “(t)he sexiest, most outrageous and most controversial bachelors and bachelorettes in bachelor history are back.”

It’s true! There’s that guy who can open and close blinds, and the one who can sit contemplatively on steps. There’s the woman who has grown so much and the other who uses the word “frenemies” and looks like a bloated Paris Hilton. And then there’s that guy who drives up to the camera and says “I’m back.”

Okay, who are you exactly?

“I’m pretty sure America hates me,” he continues.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t know who you are,” says America.

This is him. Maybe you know him?

It’s me. I’m back! You know. Me. Right? It’s me. I’m that guy. Don’t you know me?

Wait…is that Ed Grimley?

Host Chris Harrison is standing in front of the mansion and he tells us for the ninth time that these are the most memorable people, which helps because I don’t remember anyone.

Now apart from the most memorable contestants in the history of this sentence, there are also some “lucky” fans who will get a chance to contract chlamydia from their most favorite bachelor reject.

There’s Paige who looks exactly like Ellie Kemper. “I’m so excited. Is this real life,” she says.

“No,” says Reality.

There’s Chris who is a SWAT officer and is shown shooting guns and tackling people. He loves The Bachelor franchise. He loves it so much that his judgement is clouded and he allows himself to be filmed watching The Bachelor. By himself. In a candlelit room. In his blue pajamas. Sipping wine so intensely I think his eyes are going to fall out.

Then there’s Donna. She parades around in bikinis. She believes The Bachelor was literally made for her, further cementing the truism that no reality television contestant knows what the word “literally” means. For further proof, check out my recap of Bachelor Pad 2. And yes, I lead a very fulfilling life while I watch this show in my Forever Lazy® guzzling my box of wine.

Then there’s David and he boxes and is literally four-feet-tall.

And finally, without further ado, I’ll lift up this latch and here’s Twin 1 and Twin 2. Now these twins are a hoot, they’re so so much fun, but to speak very plainly, they’re dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb.

The tension is mounting, someone unrecognizable says. I look in the dictionary to make sure “tension” still means the same thing.

First limo arrives, and it’s…the guy who can open and close blinds, Chris B. He’s here to heal. Sure.

Then it’s Lindsey and she was on that Bachelor starring the guy who looks grimier than John Mayer.

Ed arrives. “What am I doing here?” he asks Chris Harrison. He then sees Chris B. and Lindsey. “What’s going on here?” Hm. Does he really not know?

Then Nick shows up and he’s bright red and then there are so many people who are so controversial or unrecognizable.

Donna the fan arrives and she is all a-fluttery over Chris Harrison and shits herself when he says her name. Awww.

SWAT Chris takes a picture of himself with host Chris.

I seriously think these fans want to have a relationship with Chris Harrison. I would if I were on the show. He seems the most clean.

The twins become remarkably lucid upon entering the mansion. “I feel like so subhuman,” says Twin 1. “I honestly feel like I’m in Disneyland. I feel like I’m a robot.”

Ed, who still possibly might not know where or who he is, strips to his underwear and jumps in the pool.

Chris Harrison shows up to explain the game. The contestants pair up, compete in challenges. If you win, you get an immunity rose. Boys vote off a girl and girls vote off a boy. Some couple will win $250,000. No one leaves with their dignity intact.

First competition involves the couples cramming themselves like factory-farm chickens into these hearts. The hearts are suspended in mid-air and tipped forward every couple of minutes. Whichever couple stays the longest, wins.  This is “tense” and “memorable” and “exciting”.

The twins and boxing David win. Erica and her partner Unmemorable lose and immediately get one elimination vote cast against them. The Bachelor veterans are pissed because they hate the twins.

David and the twins go on a Bachelor-style date, and they reminisce about how much it reminds them of all these other Bachelor dates–Oh! This is like that date where Bentley gave Bloofely herpes!–…and jesus christ, young people. You know in my day, we kept our obsessions with reality television stars in the privacy of our own homes with our stalker shrines and vials of urine.

David strategizes with the twins. He thinks the fans should vote as a bloc to kick off Erica and Unmemorable. Not a bad strategy except he tells everyone–including Erica and Unmemorable.

This leads to a big confrontation between Erica and David where Erica speaks in a valley girl monotone that make her threats seem chillingly chill. “I think you’re an ugly loser and your plan is not going to work,” she drawls. “Who calls themselves a fan, like that’s pathetic.”

Another moment of lucid thinking.

People start campaigning as if they are Kelly Taylor vying for homecoming queen in an episode of Beverly Hills 90210. 

Rose ceremony time and SWAT Chris and Paige get kicked off. Donna is spared because of her giant breasts, David realizes his days are numbered and the twins stare off into space with their dead, dead eyes.

Upcoming challenge involves a spelling bee. Not to be missed.

Fifty Shocking Revelations!?! (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 301-350)

Holy cow!

Lots of revelations in pages 301-350 of Fifty Shades Darker: Bride of Chucky. Crap! I just soiled my pants again. Third time since I started this post. That’s because the revelations are just sooooo revelatory. It’s just like in the film The Sixth Sense when we find out M. Night Shyamalan will go on to make a series of terrible movies. Except that one where the trees cause people to stick knives in their faces…no, I’m sorry that was also really, really bad.

(For previous recraps, click here)

So strap on some Depends® because shit just got 60 shades darker. And I don’t even know what that means!?!

Remember Leila? And the “danger”? Yeah, I didn’t either, but holy crap suspense! She’s, like, in Ana’s apartment.

What?

No seriously, the phone call is coming from inside the house. Inside the house! So Ana goes to her apartment to pick up her roommate’s brother, and she gets buzzed inside. But it isn’t her roommate’s brother. It’s Leila.

And Leila’s got a gun.

I’ll give you a second to process that and also change into fresh pair of Depends®. You know what? You might as well forgo the adult diaper and just lay a piece of tarp on the floor to catch the freely flowing defecation.

You ready?

Ana’s hair follicles tighten with terror when she sees Leila. Ana might want to see a doctor because that is a very bizarre physiological reaction–if she survives this incredibly plausible ordeal. Oh my god! This is, like, so tense and crap.

Leila looks like the little girl from The RingShe speaks in sing song and wonders why Ana looks like her and “Why does Master like us like this. . . Master is dark.”

See? That’s why it’s called Darker Shades of Glop.

Christian bursts through the door, and Ana feels the “charge” between Christian and Leila and gets all jealous and refuses to leave because what if he kisses Leila and stuff?

And then Christian orders his man servant to carry Ana out and drive her back to his apartment, and Ana’s all like….Whaatttt!!! He loves Leila! Because she is clearly a giant, fucking idiot and has the emotional depth of a Hot Pocket®.

Ana instead gets her drink on with her roommate’s brother.

She finally goes back to Christian’s apartment for the showdown of the century. This is just as tense as the time Kim Kardashian got her butt x-rayed to prove it was a real butt.

Ana says “Look you clearly like stringy sewer rats and I’m not as good as that.” Christian says “No” and shakes his head and says “No” and clenches his jaw and says “No” and bends his knee and says “No” and squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that eyeball fluid flows down his cheeks.

And then he becomes a submissive.

Huh?

Just go with it, okay. It makes perfect sense.

It does?

Um…yes.

So Ana and her three brain cells have to get him back. She twirls her vagina in his face, but that doesn’t seem to work.

So she opts for confession:

“I just don’t get why (you) like me.”

So, so complex…if one was a 7th grader.

He snaps out of it because E.L. James needs him to, and he explains why he wanted Ana to leave him alone with Leila, which was understood by the rest of the planet when it first initially happened.

Big confession time. This is almost as earth shattering as the time that one Bachelor chose that one person on The Bachelor VIIMCII and everyone was, like, her?

“I’m a sadist, Ana. I like to whip little brown-haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore–my birth mother,” Christian says.

Jeez, that’s going to make Christian’s sub/dom 2012 reunion super awkward, you guys!

Ana’s all like, does he think his crack whore birth mom is prettier than me?

Then he asks her to marry him.

Zzzzzzzz….

Are you even listening anymore.

Whoops! I meant to say, what?

Yup. And honestly what gal could say no to: “I like to beat girls who resemble my crack whore birth mother. Marry me”?

Ana says she needs some time to process. Christian asks if she’s hungry and his “eyes frost” when she confesses to not eating. I love the whole eating stuff, it’s just so stuff and stuff, you know what I’m saying and stuff?

He gets her to eat macaroni and cheese, which she calls “nursery food” because she’s an asshole. Then Ana decides she wants to know what Christian did with Leila.

He gave her a bath and packed her off to a mental institution. Ana freaks out about the naked bathness. This is the straw that broke the vaginal ball’s back. To hear it in all it’s crap glory, click on the audio: 

Ana goes to bed and then wakes up and thinks Crapballs then she hears Christian screaming. He’s having a nightmare. He lets her touch his chest and they rub genitalia.

Ana says she wants to talk to his therapist about Christian’s private therapy sessions. “Sure, why not?” Christian says.

Ana gets to work late and her boss Jack Hyde is a pissy shitbag.

And that’s where its ends. So much, so much to process. So much feces to clean up, thank god for the tarp, right?

Will Ana marry Christian? Will Christian be able to overcome his desire to beat brunettes who look like his crack whore birth mom? Will Ana get to work on time the next day?

Fifty Pages of Emails (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 251-300)

Halfway there gentle reader. Halfway there. Would it be problematic to say Fifty Shades Darker: Honey I Blew Up the Kids (thanks Angie) ends at page 300?

I think at this point we can guess that Christian Grey will fill up Anastasia Steele’s tank with high octane semen. They will send email that will make you wish humans were never given the gift of communication. And Ana will think thoughts that show she has the emotional maturity of a stinky fart.

For more stinky farts, check out these past recraps here.

Okayokayokayokay pages 251-300 here we go….Ana’s at work recuperating from a weekend of sailing and screwing. And now we get the emails that contribute nothing to the story but everything to the downfall of civilization.

So this goes on until archaeologists uncover my desiccated corpse in the year 3012.

Ana’s sleaze ball boss Jack Hyde sends her out for lunch, and Ana feels like she’s being watched–which she is, by Christian’s hench men. Love? Yeah, this ain’t it.

Christian gets all shouty in the phone because she’s not allowed to be in the open because of the “danger” posed by Leila.  And she’s like “poop” and hangs up. Jack says she has to work late and looks at her lecherously because every man wants Ana. Is that not clear? Try to keep up.

They work late. Jack tries to “accidentally” smoosh his body into hers.

So they continue to engage in realistic dialogue for adult human beings, and he says “You like your boyfriend?” And Ana’s vagina engorges just at the thought of Christian’s Twizzler®-like fingers poking into her. “I love him,” she breathes.  “What’s his surname?” Jack asks using terminology that normal adult human beings employ in normal conversations. Of course Ana flushes because she has a fire in her pants and says “Grey, Christian Grey.” And Jack puts his erection away and dissolves into a puddle. “I’m melting,” he shrieks. “I’m melting.”

Ana leaves work and gets into a car with Christian. They breathe and mutter and anger at each other. They then hump in the elevator:

If you would like to experience the elevator grind in greater detail, click on this audio:

Now they’re in Christian’s apartment. They say boring things and suddenly Christian’s man servant announces Elena is on her way. Elena is surprised to see Ana there and I like unsweetened tea, which is just as relevant to the story as anything else.

She’s there because she’s being ransomed.

Sure, why not?

And that is what happens. Ana eavesdrops. Christian goes on and on about how she’s his future, but he’s unworthy. And I once had a cat named Raffles and when he died I got a second cat and named him Raffles the Second.

Ana goes to sleep and wakes up and finds Christian playing a melancholy song on the piano. I feel like this has happened before, maybe 400 other times, but it’s still really powerful. Or not. Not at all, actually.

Hey guess what? They pound the piano keys whilst pounding into each other. Christian says something really creepy about not letting her come because she argued with him or some such grossness.

Ana feels like she doesn’t know much about Christian. Like, she doesn’t know if he would, like, drink tea at night or stuff. And then, like, I realize I don’t know, if, like, my husband would do that either. And I’m like whoa.

She tries to get more info out of him with some stealthy questions. “Do you have any happy memories of your childhood?”

“I recall the crack whore baking.”

Betty Crocker–I think you found your next marketing slogan.

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

Mother, May I Sleep with Fifty Shades? (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 151-200)

Jeezus cripes, gentle reader. What can I say about pages 151-200 of Fifty Shades Darker: Freddy vs. Jason that could possibly be better than this:

akt by Rainer Augur

This is “art” inspired by Fifty Shades. I’m not sure if the green swirly stuff in the groin area is suppose to be Ana’s face, a member of the Na’vi tribe or Nickelodeon slime. I had to edit out the erect peen because this is a family-friendly blog (it is?).

I was going to end the recrap here, but then you would miss out on this sentence:

“Leila–the girl who looks like me–that’s the most startling image my brain conjures for conjecture, that and her eerie presence in Christian’s bedroom.”

Say what, now?

Okay, let’s get through this. Lemme first down an entire bottle of Benadryl. If you wish to understand my pain, you can start at the beginning.

Christian and Ana are in Christian’s childhood bedroom. He ties Ana up with his bow tie and spanks her. Let’s forget that Ana hates spanking because character consistency is, like, so crap. She “comes and comes” and then they clam dive. They return to the charity event just in time for the auction dance.  Dance dance revolution. The man who engaged in the bidding war for Ana’s addled brain asks for a dance. Turns out it’s Christian’s therapist Dr. Flynn.

Why not?

Ana’s nervous because she’s afraid he will diagnose her with erythrophobia–pathological blushing.  I don’t mention it in every recap, but Ana blushes furiously, bites her lip, and looks at her hands or fingers every three sentences. Christian curls his lips, flashes or mists his eyes and extends his talon-like fingers every four sentences.

Ana thinks big thoughts: “Why is Christian so fucked up? Why did (Flynn) bid on me? That’s the only thing I want to ask him, but somehow that seems rude.”

Okay.

They have a weird conversation because everyone in this book is a giant weirdo.

The ethical doc says he cannot tell Ana about Christian. “Besides, we need until Christmas.”

Ana gets all blushily huffy: “You’ve just confirmed what I’ve been saying to Christian. . . that you’re an expensive charlatan.”

I probably don’t need to point out that she has never said anything remotely like that to Christian.

I’m beginning to wonder if the author E.L. James has ever had a conversation with a real human being or has she gleaned her knowledge of human interaction from viewing Ed Wood movies and marathons of The Real Housewives of New Jersey?

Potty time. On the way there, Ana runs into a masked stranger who desperately wants to talk to her. Let’s just forget that a crazy woman is after Ana and a team of security guards are watching Ana’s every move and let this interaction take place, ‘kay?

It is Elena, Christian’s former dom.

Another bizarre interaction. Christian loves you, Elena tells Ana. “But what I want to say if you hurt him again, I will find you, lady, and it won’t be pleasant when I do.”

Wha the fuh?

This is starting to resemble a big Lifetime Original Movie. Ana’s in lurve with a mysterious, wealthy man she knows little about. She’s in danger!?! Crazy exes are threatening her!?!

They head home. Christian wants Ana to get some sleep so her down there is well rested for its gynecological visit the next day. Ana sulks.

“‘Its my body,’ (Ana) mutters annoyed that he hadn’t asked (her).

‘It’s mine, too’ he whispers.”

*swoon*

They arrive and–oh no!–someone’s slashed the tires and thrown paint all over Ana’s car. The security team fears the person is inside Christian’s apartment. Christian enters against the security team’s wishes to fight off the intruder with his giant green-swirly peen. Nothing happens except it’s really, like, tense and stuff. Or not.

Later, Ana wakes up disoriented and think she sees a figure at the edge of the bed. She finds Christian. They want to penvag and head back to the bedroom and–oh no!–the balcony door is open. Nothing happens except it’s really, like, tense and stuff. Or not.

Ana and Christian hightail it to a hotel. They register under an assumed name. The female hotel clerk is so turned on by Christian, her hands shake. She inserts the card key into her vag and hands it to Christian. That last bit didn’t really happen, but it’s just as believable.

Ana makes an insightful observation seeing a women in the lobby feeding a tiny dog. “So, the hotel allows pets? Odd for a place so grand!”

Not unnecessary at all.

So, they screw in the hotel room? Odd for a book filled with pointless screwing!

Christian watches Ana sleep in an Edward Cullenesque way. The obgyn comes and berates Ana for stopping the pill, and says she could be pregnant. My mind is very foggy, but I think Ana started taking the pill 10 days ago and Christian wears condoms and I don’t care.

She’s not pregnant, but she’s pissy and sulky and won’t tell Christian what’s wrong and is all passive aggressive about it until she finally tells him and I don’t care.

“My natural inclination is to beat it out of you, but I seriously doubt you want that,” he says.

What a guy.

They splooge.

Christian says he’s nothing and I don’t care, but Christian’s in lurve with Ana and I don’t care.

“It’s such a liberating realization, as if a crushing millstone has been tossed aside,” thinks Ana.

What the fuck?

Ana has transformed him with her ice-cream vag and sophisticated lexicon (“fart blossomy crap nugget”).

More thinking Arby’s®.

And zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yup.

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

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

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

Other highlights:

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

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

Ew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*sigh*

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

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

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

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

890 words…must do better.

Fifty Flavors of Ugh (Fifty Shades Darker: pgs. 51-100)

I’m beginning my recrap of pages 51-100 of Fifty Shades Darker: Money Never Sleeps with a public service announcement. This is something I had to do before, when Christian Grey pulled out Anastasia Steele’s tampon and threw it in a toilet.

So here it is:

Please do not put food in your vagina. Or if you do not have a vagina, please do not put food into someone else’s vagina.

I understand the labia is sometimes referred to as vaginal lips. I understand that inserting a penis into a vagina can be referred to as getting the “hot beef injection” (Bender, John, perf. “The Breakfast Club.” 1985. DVD.).

But the vagina is not a mouth. It is not meant to be invigorated by the latest amuse bouche.

Why am I bringing this up?

Patience, gentle reader.

If you would like to read how we got to this point, click here.

Ana is getting ready to meet her coworkers at the Fifty Shades theme bar where ladies drink free if they go through the spanking machine. “Miss Steele? Anastasia Steele?” Ana turns her head and sees Alex Forrest from Fatal Attraction. Alex laughs maniacally and looks at Ana with eyes that are brown, like bourbon, but flat (this is the actual description in the book).

“What do you have that I don’t?” Alex asks. Alex reaches over and turns a lamp on and off, revealing a white bandage around her wrist. She leaves with a “You should see what I can do with rabbits.”

What the crap, crap? Ana thinks, but soon forgets about the mysterious woman when she starts slamming beers at the bar. Ana’s boss Rapey McRapelstein stands too close to Ana and tries to ensnare her with his groin.

The lights flicker on and off. Everyone’s hair stands on end. Christian Grey has entered the room. All women’s down there become moist as sponge cake. All men’s testicles shrivel up into their necks.

Christian and Jekyll Hyde engage in a pissing contest because every man wants Ana just like every woman wants Christian. They are the most beguiling, mysterious, witty, intelligent, amazing couple in the universe even though everything they do and say show they are as annoying as shit.

Christian immediately begins doing push ups with his penis. Jack Ripper shows off his own penis prowess:

Ana and Christian leave to commence with the non kinky fuckery at Ana’s place. Christian asks if Jack is a good boss because if no, his ass is grass. Ana figures out that Christian has bought the publishing company where she works.

“I’m mad,” she yells.

“Well, I’m smiling my boyish smile,” he retorts, his eyes hooded and blazing and sparkling. “I must protect you at all times. Did you see the changes to the health care plan Vaginal ball extraction is totally covered.”

“Now I’m not mad anymore,” she breathes into her down there.

Sexing time. The usual stuff: grunting, licking, moaning, argghhing etc. It gets very repetitive and mind numbing hot. Christian likes to offer encouragement to Ana, which sounds very similar to the encouragement one gives a dog at obedience school.

It continues on for infinity, and I begin to wish it could be broken up by one of their banal email exchanges:

They stop and talk nonsense…I don’t know, maybe about whether Pinky or Blinky make the better Pac Man villain, I’m just so tired…and then Ana asks if he wants dessert. “I have vanilla ice cream,” she says blushing furiously.

Christian basically spoons Ben & Jerry’s ice cream all over her.

And all I can think is how much I hate when ice cream drips on my hand and arm, and now it’s all over the bed and sheets and yuck.

He then puts some in her pubic hair and vagina and licks it out. Mmm. I bet that tasted really good since she just had two spermicide-covered latex condoms in there.

I don’t understand why Ben & Jerry’s hasn’t capitalized on the Fifty Shades phenomenon by releasing a flavor inspired by the books. This one’s a freebie, boys:

Okay, gentle reader, this is where I’m going to refer you to the PSA at the top. I don’t think it’s the best idea to put sugar-based foods into one’s vagina.

Look what I found from a simple Google search of “Should I put ice cream in my vagina?”

I think it has something to do with screwing up the delicate balance of bacteria. Dr. Oz did a show on this once:

Ana mentions she needs a shower, but it is unclear whether she takes one–and this from an author who spent six paragraphs on the small talk between Ana and Claire the receptionist.

She falls asleep in the sticky sheets–oh dear christ–and dreams she is the pale, unwashed   ghost woman who confronted Ana on the sidewalk. She wakes up screaming and tells Christian about the encounter. It turns out the woman is Leila, one of his former subs. She showed up on Christian’s doorstep when he was with Ana in Georgia, and slit her wrist in front of the housekeeper Mrs. Jones.

“How does she know about me?” Ana whispers

Christian surmises Leila saw the one photograph of them online. Let’s ignore that in that photo Ana was unidentified.

Next day, Ana wants to get her haircut. Christian takes her to a salon where all the blonde employees seem to know him. Ana wonders if he’s screwed all of them, which is a healthy thought and a sign of a strong relationship. Nope, he just owns a chain of beauty salons.

Okay.

His co-owner is the woman who made him a sex slave at 15, and surprise she’s there. Christian rushes over to her and whispery whispers.

Ana’s like Crap, this sucks a big crapnugget. She’s, like, so prettier than me…er…I mean, she hurt Christian…but she is so way prettier than me. That sucks cow teats.

Christian returns to Ana’s side, and she wants to leave because of the over prettiness of Elena. They fight and fight. Christian’s cell phone rings, and it’s serious emergency time, you guys. Leila left her husband and took up with some guy who was killed in a car accident a few weeks ago.

Okay.

But wait! She has a concealed gun permit.

All right.

Listen! She wants to kill Ana!?!

Huh?

For reals, yo.

It’s Getting Dark in Here (Fifty Shades Darker, pgs. 1-50)

So you better be pulling up some shades…like maybe 50 of ’em.

What the hell do I mean? At this point, I don’t even know.

In my last post, I included a poll about whether or not I should continue recrapping the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. Here are the results:


For a second, I thought soup was going to take it. Soup is mmmmmm good. I really, really wanted soup to win and not because I have a Christian Grey food obsession, (Eat the soup!!! Eat it!! I say my eyes hooding in a darkening glower way of a darkened shade), but because these books are the opposite of soup. If I’m not being clear, I think these books are, to use a favorite phrase of Anastasia Steele’s, crap.

This is a democracy (is it?) and the public wants more interspecies mingling between Hugo and Goofy so I am continuing. Your kind, kind comments on the first series of recraps almost made me feel something in my dead, dead heart and even deader soul. For a second, my soul sparked like a lighter low on lighter fluid and then snuffed out. It was glorious yet odd feeling because it has been so long since I’ve felt anything.

This weekend I purchased the second book Fifty Shades Darker: Electric Boogaloo and took some over-the-counter anxiety medicine–the only one I could find was for dogs–and read the first 50 pages.

Oh reader…oh gentle reader…it was like I never left Seattle or Portland or Vancouver, wherever this book is supposed to be set. The setting is kind of a fluid thing like a blob of K-Y® Brand INTENSE®.

When we last left our heroine, Ana and her stinging bottom and clenching down there left the steely-eyed, impassive, lost, impossibly beautiful, long-fingered, flogging machine known as Christian Grey.

It is Ana’s first day of work as spanking machine test subject publishing assistant for a man named Jack Hyde, whose name is in no way suppose to make you think of a combination of Jack the Ripper and Jekyll and Hyde. Incidentally Jekyll “Ripper” Hyde wants to jack Ana:

Ana is, like, feeling quintuplet crap because it’s been, like, five days without seeing Christian curl and purse his lip. Everything reminds her of Christian. She breaks down when she tries to eat enormous bananas or passes by the dog collar display at the local pet store:

Christian tracks down her work email and sends her a message about attending Jose’s photography exhibit. “Do you still want to go? Clench your down there once for yes, twice for no,” it says.

This results in the most fascinating email exchange in all of email history. E.L. James could have written “We decided to still attend Jose’s show like we planned” but then you would miss out on this:

It’s show time. Ana hops into Christian’s car, and he is as amazingly pleasant as one could expect. He scowls and scolds and reprimands her for not eating and glowers and smolders and glares and any other synonyms for pissy.

Oh the eating! How I missed thee. Thank god you showed up in chapter 1 or else I wouldn’t remember Christian has a serious hang up about the contents of Ana’s stomach. She jumps into his lap as one would expect, and inhales his “Christian” smell, an intoxicating aroma of Boudreaux Butt Paste, Sex Panther, and the brand of cologne O.J. Simpson likes.

They get into an elevator where dark, deadly desire pools in Ana’s groin and electricity sparks from Christian’s “bright” hair. Lip biting ensues. They arrive at the helipad. Christian straps her into a harness and remarks how much he enjoys it, and I feel a strong sense of deja vu, like I read all of this before.

Because I did. Last week. When I read the first book.

Ana is in awe of the romantic things Christian says, and her inner goddess wakes up from her Ben & Jerry’s stupor:

At the gallery, Christian pees a circle around Ana to mark his territory. Christian glowers at Jose when Jose steps over the circle to embrace Ana. Throughout the evening, Christian refers to Jose as “boy”. The female gallery owner wants to hump Christian like all women do and tries to attach her groin to his leg. Ana notices that people are staring at her too. Wha? Crap? Triple holy cow craptasm! What the crap in crapville is crapping on? Ana thinks and then craps a bit in her pants. Jose, a self-professed landscape photographer, took portraits of Ana surreptitiously and now is seeking to make money off of them, which seems ethical:

Christian pees all over them and for added measure buys them so no one can ogle Ana’s stringy hair and too-huge eyes. Yes, digital photographs are very hard to reproduce so brilliant move on Christian’s part.

Christian throws a tantrum. “I wanna go now, Ana! Now! Waahhhhhhh.”

Because Ana is also mature, she tries to make Christian jealous by flinging herself at Jose. On their way out of the gallery, Christian pulls Ana into an alleyway and murders kisses her violently with tongue thrusts.

He then takes her to a restaurant because it’s been two paragraphs since food was mentioned. Relationship conversation time! “Why didn’t you shriek the safety word when I was shredding your ass with a belt?” Christian asks. “I told you I wanted it to be ‘turd nugget’ so I could remember it,” Ana says through her lashes that now work as a mouth. “Well then it’s your fault,” he cries. “Okay,” her down there says. Ana is all down with the “kinky fuckery” but not so much the total control of mind, body, and spirit, and the beatings with belts. “Fine,” Christian glowers. And presto! They’re back.

I predict no future problems.

Oh and Christian was beaten by his crack whore mom’s pimp. She killed herself, and it took four days to discover Dexter Christian and the body. They then order dessert.

What else? Ana received an iPad from Christian filled with songs about their relationship:

Kinky emailery. Ana is about to attend happy hour with work colleagues at a bar called Fifty Shades of Grey. I’m kidding.

It’s called Fifty’s. I’m not kidding.

And presto! We’re back.

Fifty Sighs of Relief (pgs. 451-528)

It’s here, gentle reader.

The final post of Speaker7 Wearily Proudly Presents a Cliff Notes Version of 50 Shades of Grey with Pivotal Scenes Reenacted by Hugo, the man of 1,000 faces, and Goofy, the recently named blue bunny. If you missed out on the first nine posts then you were born under a lucky star. If you enjoy torment and the overuse of the word “crap”, click here. Incidentally these recraps might be turned into a Hollywood movie with the part of Speaker7 being played by the reanimated corpse of Rin Tin Tin.

It seemed like only yesterday I read the holy craptastic description of Christian Grey pouring himself into Anastasis Steele the first time. But that was a week ago, and the pouring of his seed continued to crop up every third page. It happened so often I expected to read of something growing out of Ana’s down there, like a holy-cowing swamp monster.

Let’s end this.

Ana and Christian go gliding. They try to exchange bodily fluids in the plane, but are thwarted by the plane’s design and gravity. Christian humps Ana’s leg a little after they land. Ana thinks Holy fuck! 

They eat at IHOP because we can never go for more than two pages without Christian’s food obsession cropping up. The waitress begins drooling and blushing the minute she sees Christian because, why not? Why have one woman be normal in this book, right? Christian demands Ana eat all of the pancakes in the restaurant and then the restaurant itself.

Christian has a work “situation” he must attend and flies back to Seattle. Over the phone, Ana senses his eyebrows are arched in a I’m-kinda-mad-and-stuff way. Oh crap noggin’ Ana breathes and farts loudly.

She decides to email him. Wow, this is new! Oh wait, this has been done 4,321,245 other times.

Ana’s phone rings. She breathily answers “Crap?” and learns she has a job as a vaginal ball model publishing something or other. “Crap, yes,” she murmurs into the phone and does a few gleeful kegels.

She flies back to Seattle. Christian’s man servant drives her to Christian’s home. When Christian sees her, he blasts her with a fire hydrant’s worth of semen. He still seems kinda pissy though.

Before Ana can murmur or mutter “What’s up, dawg?”, he has her head into the Red Room of Pain for sexy time.

There Christian blindfolds her, restrains her to the bed and turns on Insane Clown Posse’s Greatest Hits at full blast. How do fucking magnets work? Ana wonders as she listens to the music, and her down there muscles clench and shrug and vibrate and expand.

He uses many implements:

They leave the red room of pain and do it again–maybe, I don’t honestly remember, but I have a 90% chance of being correct. Ana wakes up and finds Christian playing a solemn version of “I’m Sexy and I know It” on the piano.

Ana brings up the contract. She still hasn’t signed. Christian doesn’t think that’s necessary as long as she follows his rules:

Big discussion time.

Ana: I don’t like the spanking.

Christian: Well I do.

Ana: Okay, spank me as hard as you can because…uh…why now? Let me think. It will change him. Yes!

So he beats her with his belt. Romance!

For three seconds Ana is not a used-up tissue and says “Holy cow. This sucks. Bye.” Christian glowers and murmurs and taps his elongated fingers together and sneers a lip.

Ana cries and leaves him a glider model kit:

She surrenders herself to her grief. And we are done!

Now I’ve been going back and forth with my broken soul whether to continue on and recrap the second book Fifty New Uses for Anal Beads.

I leave the decision to you, gentle reader, as a good Submissive should.

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!