It's so f--king easy to judge other people, isn't it? Especially when it comes to, well, f--king. Like whatever you do behind closed doors is your business, sure, but let someone find out about it? It's open f--king season.
Maybe you like to role play in the bedroom, perhaps? Say some real vile shit to one another. Maybe you've got some toys or something, right? The ol' nine iron and ice cubes approach. Or, Hell, maybe you simply liked to be tied up (or down) and spanked like you stole something.
Whatever floats your boat (or tickles your pickle) is fine by me. Honestly. Personally, I'm not really into any of that stuff. I try to keep it simple, you know? I jump through enough hoops to get to the f--king bedroom, so you can save that circus shit for another time. But,between you and me, occasionally, like, every once in a while...
...I like to get f--ked. Hard.
In a room full of strangers.
Yep, once again, in an auditorium filled with people I hope to never see again, my wife and I squirmed our way through E.L. James' second cinematic anal bead, Fifty Shades Darker. While not quite as foul-smelling and oddly crusty as the first flick [review], the latest chapter of Intermittently Sad Girl and her Giant Wooden Dildo still falls woefully short of anything other than unintentional comedic masterpiece. I'm assuming this isn't the intent of the alleged worldwide phenomenon, but clearly, as evidenced by how I spend my free time, what the f--k do I know?
After the events of the first one, all of which I couldn't give an angry f--k about, Fifty Shades Darker picks up with a more independent, more confident version of Anastasia Steele. Apparently, after being um, erotically paddled into sexual liberation (she was a virgin, right? Ah f--k it...who cares), Anastasia has blossomed into quite the confident young woman. She has a job now, and even a desk to sit at. Occasionally, she gets to stand up and talk to people. About books. It's all very fancy (though I will award 9,000 bonus points for Darker not having the workplace be super-quirky, which it easily could have been) and so...mature.
Anyway, Anastasia seems to be doing fine, despite her boss looking like the default template every sketch artist uses when penciling out a previously unseen date rapist. One night, ol' Ana heads to an art gallery to see her friend's show, and two things happen: 1) half of the show is giant pictures of her doe-eyed face, seemingly pondering whether or not to fart, and 2) Christian Grey shows up, looking like a constipated shark that feeds exclusively on vaginal meat. Even though Anastasia has like, so moved on, she reluctantly decides to have dinner with him. In Hell.
Maybe you like to role play in the bedroom, perhaps? Say some real vile shit to one another. Maybe you've got some toys or something, right? The ol' nine iron and ice cubes approach. Or, Hell, maybe you simply liked to be tied up (or down) and spanked like you stole something.
Whatever floats your boat (or tickles your pickle) is fine by me. Honestly. Personally, I'm not really into any of that stuff. I try to keep it simple, you know? I jump through enough hoops to get to the f--king bedroom, so you can save that circus shit for another time. But,between you and me, occasionally, like, every once in a while...
...I like to get f--ked. Hard.
In a room full of strangers.
After the events of the first one, all of which I couldn't give an angry f--k about, Fifty Shades Darker picks up with a more independent, more confident version of Anastasia Steele. Apparently, after being um, erotically paddled into sexual liberation (she was a virgin, right? Ah f--k it...who cares), Anastasia has blossomed into quite the confident young woman. She has a job now, and even a desk to sit at. Occasionally, she gets to stand up and talk to people. About books. It's all very fancy (though I will award 9,000 bonus points for Darker not having the workplace be super-quirky, which it easily could have been) and so...mature.
Anyway, Anastasia seems to be doing fine, despite her boss looking like the default template every sketch artist uses when penciling out a previously unseen date rapist. One night, ol' Ana heads to an art gallery to see her friend's show, and two things happen: 1) half of the show is giant pictures of her doe-eyed face, seemingly pondering whether or not to fart, and 2) Christian Grey shows up, looking like a constipated shark that feeds exclusively on vaginal meat. Even though Anastasia has like, so moved on, she reluctantly decides to have dinner with him. In Hell.
