So, I just got done reading amberance's most recent review of some chapters of 50 Shades Freed. I haven't even read that damn book in forever and the reminders of it continue to enrage and baffle me. This book was a bestseller. People love it. People have in-depth and heated conversations over who is going to play Stupid Fucking Ana and Emotionally Crippled Christian in the FUCKING MOVIE. Why? WHY? UGH, IT MAKES NO SENSE. OF ALL THE BOOKS THAT COULD BE MADE INTO MOVIES, OF ALL THE BOOKS TO MAKE BESTSELLER LISTS, WHY IN THE FUCKING COOTER FAIRIES MUST IT BE FIFTY SHADES OF SHIT?
Why.
Whhhhyyy.
The recap also made me remember the bemusement and anger I felt reading the first of that thrice-damned series of books. I'm pretty sure if you did a running tally of how many times a character 'gasps', then took a shot for each time you'd.. well, you'd be dead is what.
'He touches my hair and I gasp'.
No you don't, you daft whore. You inhale sharply, or you take a breath, MAYBE. IF YOU WERE RAISED IN A LOCKED BASEMENT BY WOMBATS AND BADGERS FOR THE FIRST EIGHTEEN YEARS OF YOUR LIFE AND THEREFORE ARE UNUSED TO HUMAN INTERACTION. You don't GASP. That is an audible noise of shock and drama. If anyone gasped as much as Ana and Christian do in these fucking books they would pass out. In fact, 50 Shades of Grey is basically this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAOoD4755pI
It's that, plus a load of lumbering, laborious, libido-slaughtering sex scenes. Although, I would watch the movie if they had Alison Brie on board and allowed her to make any and all changes to the script/plot/characters she wanted.
His pointer finger circled my puckered love cave. "Are you ready for this?" he mewled, smirking at me like a mother hamster about to eat her three-legged young.
So. Fucking. Sexy.
Excuse me, I have to go away and cry quietly to myself.
Showing posts with label 50 Shades. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 50 Shades. Show all posts
Monday, 18 February 2013
Saturday, 1 December 2012
Cake or Death?
Look, let's get real for a moment. That's right, we're getting real.
50 Shades of Grey is a nightmare of a book. It haunts me. I hate it to such a degree that if I see some idiot reading it on the train/plane/street I have to actually restrain myself from slapping the offending book out of their hands and stamping on it. Obviously that would cause more problems for me than it would solve if I chose to do it while cruising at 20,000 feet, but honestly, I think the end would justify the means. I'd at least get a little newspaper article about it where I could say, on the record: "I genuinely felt for the long-term mental health of the woman in question. I wasn't in any way trying to harm her. I was trying to save her. I'm Batman."
I meant to start this entry with a sort of 'do no harm' self-edict, but then I went on a tangent about destroying books, so that's bang out of the window. LOOK, I get that some people like these atrocious books. I get that some people are fanwanking over who may or may not play Christian Grey in a fucking abhorrent movie. I get that. And that's actually okay. Clearly I'm not going to be able to convince all these people that the books are poison and EL James is actually a low-tier demon sent to spread sedition and subtly vilify the BDSM community. So long as you don't make me listen to you talk about how much you love the books, and how that guy from White Collar would be ermagurd the best Fifty ever, then we're okay. If I can't see it, I can pretend it doesn't exist.
With this in mind, I may have to delete my Facebook account, because THIS? THIS, PEOPLE? THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE AND I NEED YOU TO EXPLAIN THIS BULLSHIT:
I don't want to see your fucking 50 Shades birthday cake. My GOD.
UGH. CHRIST. I don't have enough expletives in my vocabulary to explain my reaction to this popping up on my Facebook news feed. I want to die.
It probably tastes like bodywash.
50 Shades of Grey is a nightmare of a book. It haunts me. I hate it to such a degree that if I see some idiot reading it on the train/plane/street I have to actually restrain myself from slapping the offending book out of their hands and stamping on it. Obviously that would cause more problems for me than it would solve if I chose to do it while cruising at 20,000 feet, but honestly, I think the end would justify the means. I'd at least get a little newspaper article about it where I could say, on the record: "I genuinely felt for the long-term mental health of the woman in question. I wasn't in any way trying to harm her. I was trying to save her. I'm Batman."
I meant to start this entry with a sort of 'do no harm' self-edict, but then I went on a tangent about destroying books, so that's bang out of the window. LOOK, I get that some people like these atrocious books. I get that some people are fanwanking over who may or may not play Christian Grey in a fucking abhorrent movie. I get that. And that's actually okay. Clearly I'm not going to be able to convince all these people that the books are poison and EL James is actually a low-tier demon sent to spread sedition and subtly vilify the BDSM community. So long as you don't make me listen to you talk about how much you love the books, and how that guy from White Collar would be ermagurd the best Fifty ever, then we're okay. If I can't see it, I can pretend it doesn't exist.
With this in mind, I may have to delete my Facebook account, because THIS? THIS, PEOPLE? THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE AND I NEED YOU TO EXPLAIN THIS BULLSHIT:
 |
| Are those.. are there stains? |
UGH. CHRIST. I don't have enough expletives in my vocabulary to explain my reaction to this popping up on my Facebook news feed. I want to die.
It probably tastes like bodywash.
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