Since the movie trailer dropped last week, our nation once again has its collective panties in a twist or completely off, depending on your feelings about 50 Shades of Grey. Yesterday, I read an article in which the author proclaimed that he had not read any of the books, then spent two pages detailing every single way 50 Shades represents everything that’s wrong with modern society.
I’m not a fan of 50 Shades, but by the time I got to the end of this article, I was thinking, “Fuck this guy.” Don’t get me wrong, I agree that 50 Shades is horribly written drivel. But I’m able to make that assessment because I read all three books. I SUFFERED FOR MY ABILTY TO LOOK DOWN ON OTHERS AND EVERYONE ELSE SHOULD HAVE TO AS WELL!
Before you start judging me, let me clarify that I read the books accidentally. Back in 2012, my coworker mentioned that she was reading this book that had some “awkward parts”, but if you read past those parts, it was a “really cute love story.” So I downloaded a pdf of it, cause I figured it would be a good read. Little did I know I was about to read a collection of poorly constructed sex short stories inserted into the narrative of Twilight (minus the vampires, which is really the only semi-interesting part of Twilight). So naturally, I read all three books in the trilogy, because I hate myself. Also, because I didn’t know it was a trilogy when I started, and the narrative ends so abruptly at the end of book one that I thought my pdf was cut off until I downloaded the second one.
Since I was reading it on my computer, I started taking screenshots of the most ridiculous passages and posting them on Tumblr with my commentary. Because I care about your sanity, I’ve decided to compile all these passages here, so you can figure out what’s so awful about the book without having to suffer like me. Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you. Be careful, though. Ahead lies thesaurus vomit, adult content, and the shame of being passably conversant in the worst books I’ve ever read.
We get off to a bad start within the first few pages, when the main character, Ana, says she’s never been drunk before. Then she goes out to celebrate graduating and has some champagne and is soon on her “fifth margarita”. Then she teases one of her friends about “trying to get her drunk” and switches to beer. I consider myself to have a pretty good tolerance, and I would be on the fucking floor after 5 margaritas. This should have been my first warning that the author is not the sharpest tool in the shed.
Who the fuck talks like this?!
…a-am I supposed to be finding this sexy? cause, uh, I’m just kinda weirded out.
SERIOUSLY, DID I MISS THE MEMO ON HOW BRUSHING YOUR TEETH IS SEXY?! Am I still single because I’m not seductively telling boys about my oral hygiene habits?
He’s making her sign a non-disclosure agreement about their relationship after one kiss.
By this point, I was screaming at my computer screen like I was watching a horror movie and the kids are about to leave the cabin to investigate the mysterious noise outside.
This is also about the point where I start to wonder if this book was secretly co-written by George Takei, based on the number of times Ana says “Oh my…”
I actually laughed out loud at this. “Ah?” How passionate.
“He’s my very own Christian Grey flavor popsicle.”
It would actually be less weird if she was talking about cannibalistic frozen treats, and not blowjobs.
Wait, this guy drives an Audi R8? This changes things.
I again needed to put the book down, because I sprained my eyes from rolling them so hard at the (im)plausibility of this statement.
Everyone needs 32 gee bees of RAM to email their partner regarding their sex contracts, duh.
This is a phrase that should really only be used sarcastically/ironically. Plus, I’ve already heard waaaay too much about this chick’s loins.
Ok, seriously, if you’re going to give your sexy dominant CEO protagonist a signature drink, don’t make it fucking white wine.
This inner goddess crap is mentioned about FIFTY MILLION TIMES. As far as I can tell, it’s a personification of the main character’s libido, which is really weird, and by the tenth mention will make you want to punch her inner goddess in the goddamn face.
(Insert yet another sex scene I didn’t bother to screenshot.)
1) I have never met one, but I’m pretty sure billionaire CEOs do not sweep all the papers off their desk in a fit of passion, no matter how hot the girl in just a t-shirt in front of them is. Also, I’m pretty sure billionaire CEOs do not have many papers on their desk, because this is the 21st century and we have computers.
2) This guy has a bottomless pocket of condoms. I was starting to find the fact that he constantly has one the most implausible part of this book. And that says a lot.
You’re hooking up with a dude who’s into BDSM, doesn’t like the sleep in the same bed as his chick, doesn’t like to be touched, CLEARLY has a troubled past with his birth mother, and it takes you over 2/3 of the way into the book to wonder why he acts all weird and be troubled that he’s emotionally unavailable?!
God, I want to slap this Ana across the face.
If there’s anything that kills the mood more than saying “post-coital”, it’s saying “post-coital” three times in the span of two pages.
Oh, is that what the stupid line from when the MacBook was delivered meant?
“Well, this has full wireless N, and I’ve set it up with your Me account details. This baby is all ready to go, practically anywhere on the planet.”
While 802.11n was pretty snazzy when this book was written, it does not mean that your computer can MAGICALLY CONJURE WIFI SIGNALS FROM MIDAIR.
Crazy possessive girlfriend and emotionally damaged stalker boyfriend? These guys were practically made for each other!
NOPE. I’M DONE. BYE. I NEED TO SANITIZE MY HARD DRIVE AND MY EYEBALLS AFTER READING THIS.
Finally, something in this book I can get behind! Go on…
Aaaand we’ve quickly returned to the realm of “least sexy thing I’ve ever read in my life”.
Five pages from the end of the book, Ana finally comes to her senses and drops the dude. Unfortunately, there’s two more books, so we know it can’t last long. And, shockingly enough for a book all about sex, they don’t even have breakup sex. WHAT A RIPOFF.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go scrub my browser history of everything 50 Shades related that I looked up while writing this post, and then take a long, hard look at my life choices. And possibly make some brownies.