Fifty Shades of Desperate Women

I have been extremely critical of the “hit trilogy” Fifty Shades of Grey for some time now–and more so since actually picking up the first book and trying to get through it.  I made it about 43 non-consecutive pages before I had to give up.  I say non-consecutive pages because I did fast forward to a few of the allegedly steamy parts of the book before tearing it apart with a bondage whip, knocking on the neighbor’s door who lent it to me, and shoving the scraps up her ass in a style most likely true to the content of the book.  I only read those sections because I was curious as to whether those scenes read as poorly as the rest of the book, not because I needed an erotic pick me up–clearly DVD is my medium of choice for that–and I was not surprised to found out that they did.

I don’t think I saw the words “vagina” or “penis” anywhere in that first book, or the myriad other words commonly used by normal people to describe those body parts.  Admittedly, I didn’t read the full book, but with most of the narrative consisting of one-to-two syllable phrases drafted in teenage dialect, I’m positive they did not appear.  Instead, it was a lot of this:  “His sex and my sex were sexing, and in the middle of sex he sexed my ass and then choked me.”  Talk about confusing–call it what it is, lady!  I’m sensing that the hype around these “books” is lessening, and for that I am thankful, but I fear we will all have to revisit this middle-aged lady craze when the movies are inevitably released.  I’ve got my fingers crossed (and not up anyone’s ass) that Roseanne Barr and Tom Arnold will play the lead roles.

Anyway, the closest thing to a point that this post has is as follows: The books are horrible (if you enjoyed them you should check out the DVD section at your local adult bookstore to see how real people are doing it these days) but this faux-Morgan-Freeman reading makes it bearable.


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