Today, when the Fragrant Missus and I came home from work, we discovered that two of the three didiots (that would be Nipper and Dieter specifically) had knocked over the garbage can. A week's worth of moldy food, used sanitary napkins, orange peels and egg shells littered the main floor from the kitchen to the front door. The smell was horrific. It was like Scooter had expressed his anal glands onto a bloated, week-old corpse covered in pig shit rotting under the relentless Saharan sun.
And it still smelled better than the trailer for Fifty Shades of Gray.
It's true that there are rare cases when a movie is made that surpasses the novel on which it is based. What Dreams May Come, for example. But, although I have never read the book (I refuse to dignify it with the appellation "novel"), I'm going to go out on a pretty sturdy limb here and say that this movie is going to be an excrescence.
How can it not? The material off of which it is working is pure, unadulterated shite. The writing is pedestrian, juvenile and completely predictable. In short, it is a literary Lincoln log. I am told that millions of women have read Fifty Shades of Grey and were titillated. Who are these millions of women? Who finds the story of an emotionally unavailable prick ("I control everything", "I don't do romance") performing BDSM on a naïve woman with obvious self-esteem issues exciting? Besides Laureen Harper, I mean.
In discussing the (inexplicable) popularity of the book with a friend, I was told that Fifty Shades of Grey was responsible for getting women to read again. This was said in the same solemn tone used to explain that J.K. Rowling got kids reading with her Harry Potter series (another book/books I haven't read. Sue me). Seriously? Women reading junk about exploitive abuse by some controlling jerk-off and clinging to that dysfunctional relationship in the belief that their devotion to that dick will prevail and he will eventually love them as they deserve: this is something to celebrate?
No.
This review sums up beautifully why I think Fifty Shades of Grey is a dangerous and irresponsible book. And the fact that some money-grubbing douchebag has grasped the opportunity to wring still more cash out of this by making a film out of it simply fills me with despair. What the actual fuck, people? I understand that there is no accounting for taste--this is why Chevy Chase and Julia Roberts still have acting careers. (Christ on a cracker, don't get me started on Kevin Costner's Robin Hood or Love, Eat Pray. As far as I'm concerned, both of those productions can be classified as bona fide butt burritos.)
For the love of all that is holy, ladies, wake up and raise your standards! Do not waste your hard-earned (but not as high as a man's) wage on this rectal soup. And just as an aside here--is BDSM really that titillating anymore? Really? I mean, in an era of cakefarts, pony play and bukaki, bondage and a riding crop seem just a little tame, dontcha think?
Next on Douchebaggery Abounds, my fucktard neighbours.
And it still smelled better than the trailer for Fifty Shades of Gray.
It's true that there are rare cases when a movie is made that surpasses the novel on which it is based. What Dreams May Come, for example. But, although I have never read the book (I refuse to dignify it with the appellation "novel"), I'm going to go out on a pretty sturdy limb here and say that this movie is going to be an excrescence.
How can it not? The material off of which it is working is pure, unadulterated shite. The writing is pedestrian, juvenile and completely predictable. In short, it is a literary Lincoln log. I am told that millions of women have read Fifty Shades of Grey and were titillated. Who are these millions of women? Who finds the story of an emotionally unavailable prick ("I control everything", "I don't do romance") performing BDSM on a naïve woman with obvious self-esteem issues exciting? Besides Laureen Harper, I mean.
In discussing the (inexplicable) popularity of the book with a friend, I was told that Fifty Shades of Grey was responsible for getting women to read again. This was said in the same solemn tone used to explain that J.K. Rowling got kids reading with her Harry Potter series (another book/books I haven't read. Sue me). Seriously? Women reading junk about exploitive abuse by some controlling jerk-off and clinging to that dysfunctional relationship in the belief that their devotion to that dick will prevail and he will eventually love them as they deserve: this is something to celebrate?
No.
This review sums up beautifully why I think Fifty Shades of Grey is a dangerous and irresponsible book. And the fact that some money-grubbing douchebag has grasped the opportunity to wring still more cash out of this by making a film out of it simply fills me with despair. What the actual fuck, people? I understand that there is no accounting for taste--this is why Chevy Chase and Julia Roberts still have acting careers. (Christ on a cracker, don't get me started on Kevin Costner's Robin Hood or Love, Eat Pray. As far as I'm concerned, both of those productions can be classified as bona fide butt burritos.)
For the love of all that is holy, ladies, wake up and raise your standards! Do not waste your hard-earned (but not as high as a man's) wage on this rectal soup. And just as an aside here--is BDSM really that titillating anymore? Really? I mean, in an era of cakefarts, pony play and bukaki, bondage and a riding crop seem just a little tame, dontcha think?
Next on Douchebaggery Abounds, my fucktard neighbours.
3 comments:
I loathe 50 shades of grey; but am also unashamedly into BDSM (not in an exhibitionist way I will note).
I loathe it because the message is that to enjoy that kind of kinky play you have to be damaged, recovering from an abusive past, a weak woman, or an asshole.
A horrible book. I expect it will be a terrible movie.
I just looked at Cakefarts. WHYYYYYYYYYYY
Just for that, I'm reading 50 Shades of Grey.
Not really.
BTW how did you know which didiots did the dirty deed...?
Never mind, I just re-read The Didiots. HA!!
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