This is it, gentle reader.
It took some time getting to this point. My brain has shrunken to the size of a vaginal ball. I no longer recognize how sentences are properly constructed. And I’ve begun to call the wart on my left thumb “my inner goddess.” I sometimes dress it in cheerleading outfits.
Since we’re at the end, I would like to let you in on a little secret:
I fucking hate this book more than I fucking hated the other two.
The other two sucked an electrified butt plug, but this book is the king of the shitheap hill. There was no reason for it–no reason for any of them–but really no reason for this other than for E.L. James to make a bazillion more dollars.
Let’s get this over with. We left off with Ana saving the day with her lima-bean-sized brain and gun-firing skills, her in-and-out-of consciousness in the hospital and Speaker7 praying for an early demise.
Christian remembers that his foster mother called him “baby bird,” and suddenly Jack Hyde’s ransom note makes sense.
I’m glad it does for you, Christian, since I have never seen or heard anything about it. This from the author who included Christian’s BDSM contract verbatim. TWICE!
Baby bird is from the book Are You My Mother? Christian explains. Jack knew he loved it.
Will you tell the police? Ana wonders.
Okay, stop. Let’s stop. What the fuck is going on? Why is this relevant? Anybody have a theory?
Thanks Hugo. Fair point well made ol’ chap.
Ana wants to bang, but Christian wants to talk about Mrs. Robinson raping him.
As a teen, Christian did yard work for her so he had money to maintain his drinking habit. Good thing that’s cleared up since he drinks daily.
He made some smart-ass remark and Mrs. Robinson slapped him. Then she kissed him and slapped him again like some cardboard heroine from a 1950’s movie.
“‘Well naturally I was confused and angry and horny as hell. I mean, a hot older woman comes on to you like that–‘ He shakes his head as if he still can’t believe it.
Hot? I feel queasy.”
Way to keep perspective, Ana. Yes this is the exact moment to get jealous.
Mrs. Robinson made the world make sense until Ana turned everything upside down with her super vagina and commendable lip biting abilities.
More blather about loving her so much and her being the greatest thing since the hot dog dicer. He then explains his dickish actions when she told him she was pregnant. He left to see Dr. Flynn, but Dr. Flynn was running the bake sale or some such made-up shit at the local school so he went to the salon to talk to Mrs. Robinson.
They split a bottle of wine since Mrs. Robinson was the one who got Christian to stop drinking. She made a pass at him and he was like ewww.
Ana wonders if they kissed.
Christian said he thought about junior Grey having relations with an adult, and realized maybe it wasn’t all hunky dory.
Christian tells Ana he wants to be the center of her universe, but knows that’s over once the bun is cooked in her oven. Ana platitudes bullshit about children loving their parents unconditionally. Um…other way around, tootsie roll, say all parents of teenagers.
A day passes. Ana’s horny. She decides to dress sexily and brush her hair sexily. She wants scrambled eggs for breakfast and this greeted as surprising news by all, except for me because I’m scraping a fork against my eyeball.
Argue-time over whether she can go to work. Then she sees he’s wearing pajama bottoms. I don’t know if they’re hanging off his hips in that way. Are they? Are they??!?!??!?
He’s staying home too to keep Ana under guard so she won’t get into trouble like put a fork in an electrical outlet or get into the cleaning supplies under the sink.
Christian starts to feel up her leg with Mrs. Jones in the room. Banter about wanting to screw, and Mrs. Jones is trying to hide her smile, according to Ana. I really don’t think Mrs. Jones gives a fuck, but okay Ana, it’s from your addled-brain’s point of view.
They go to look at the boring house renovations and have a boring picnic in the meadow. Uh-oh–phone call from Welch. Mrs. Robinson’s ex Linc was the one who bailed out Jack Hyde!
Holy shit! Wait–who the fuck is he? And why the fuck do I care? And fuck?
Christian will destroy him. Awesome. This is as compelling as if I learned Noah Logan was behind it all. Remember him? Yeah, I don’t either, but at least he made an appearance on one page in this book unlike the super villain Linc.
The bankrupting of Linc gets them all hot and bothered and they screw. It’s the same-old, same-old. Some hair fisting, teeth clashing, inflaming loins. Christian pokes his fingers through her panties, which causes them to disintegrate. (?) Guess what? Ana’s wet. Like always.
Two more days pass, Christian is playing his dopey piano, but not the usual sad melody, something upbeat “Pop Goes the Weasel.” Ana uses this time to compose a stupid email and sneak off into the playroom. End, goddammit! End.
Oh, it’s the epilogue – May 2014.
Unfortunately no. For some reason we go back to the time in the playroom, and they do it. Why this needed to be a flashback is something that will require me to travel to the year 2014 and flashback upon.
Back to the future again. Ana’s pregnant with second child, a daughter. She tells Christian that the baby is dancing and makes the completely appropriate remark: “I think she likes sex already.”
*cue the montage*
Then Christian says this gem: “I’m looking forward to the taste of breast milk again.” I’m so glad they’re able to find a use for their babies in their sexual escapades. That seems so….fuck.
They play with their boy Teddy, and the end.
Wait a second. . . I’m at page 548, and what is this shit? Shades of Christian? Oh no, no, no, no, no. Nope. You do not get to tack on your writing exercises at the end, E.L., for me to slog through after I just read 4,000 pages of your potato scrapings. No thank you. NO. No I do not need to read the first flippin’ book again from Christian’s perspective. Guess what, y’all. It still sucks. What’s next? From the perspective of the pencil sharpener?
Shades of a Pencil Sharpener
Holy cow, these two are fucking idiots. You’re damn right! Who said that? It’s me, your inner pencil sharpener. What’s up, dawg? You want to go sharpen some pencils so we drown out these morons’ hissing and muttering and arrghhing? Word.
(To go to the beginning of my decline, click here)