50 Shades of Enough Already

In case you’ve been living in a closet and don’t know what’s going on in the world, I have good news. No, the climate crisis hasn’t been solved—the 50 Shades of Grey movie comes out this weekend! This, of course, is the movie based on the best selling trilogy of books that tells the tale of a young, dumb girl and the mysterious millionaire who loves to whip her with strips of leather before he broods in deep introspection in his private helicopter. Or maybe that’s the plot of the new Spongebob Squarepants movie? I don’t know, they both involve crabs and high levels of absorbency.

Anyway, anyone who’s ever met me can immediately tell by my sophisticated and worldly attitude that I have read all three of the 50 Shades books. And let me tell you, each one was more terrible than the last. Like, “let’s give a monkey a typewriter, a Red Bull and a Victoria’s Secret catalog and see what happens!” terrible. (Fun fact: That’s exactly how every Adam Sandler screenplay is written, but with dumber monkeys.) Plus, in addition to the bad writing, there’s just way too much sex in these books. By the third one, I was completely skimming the bondage chapters and considering joining up with a nunnery to cleanse my soul. Nunneries accept non-Catholics who have C-section scars, yes? And they’d let me call myself “Sister Sledge”?

But obviously, I’m in the minority with my opinion on this art as there is a huge pack of ladies just dying to see 50 Shades of Grey as soon as their Honda minivans can get them to the theater. In fact, the fancy theater in Austin, where seats are $19 and up, has been sold out for weeks. WEEKS. And not just because of sweet promotions like this:

That’s right, ladies, free handcuffs! How romantic is that? The last movie that tried the free fuzzy handcuff promotion was Escape From Alcatraz, if I recall. Remember how cute Clint Eastwood looked wearing them at the premiere? Right before he punched a reporter and shoved the handcuff key down his throat? Adorable.

Of course, to get these handcuffs, you have to drink the “Red Room of Pain Cocktail” first, and by then you’d most likely be on a stretcher on your way to Urgent Care, and you couldn’t enjoy them, anyway. (Unless you hooked yourself to an EMT or the morphine cabinet.) I mean, just look at those drink ingredients—“red rum, red jalapenos, blood orange, homemade ginger beer and red rose petals.” Was this stolen from Dick Cheney’s CIA Hottie cookbook? Is it meant to be an aphrodisiac or a fancy type of syrup of ipecac? And who wants to sit in a dark theater watching well-lit S&M scenes while red jalapenos swish madly through their GI tract? Not me, man. I can’t even handle a cherry Icee on an empty stomach.

All of that said, if you do decide to go see this movie, I will not judge you. In fact, I fully intend on seeing it myself when Austin’s Alamo Drafthouse does a parody screening of it and/or it’s the movie on an airline about to go out of business.  I’m sure it can’t be any worse than watching The Wolf of Wall Street in the theater with my parents and relatives from North Dakota while my mom hissed, “We get it. You like drugs and hookers” and my dad yelled, “Wow, I wish I had binoculars!” the entire three hours.

Anyway, when you’re in the theater watching 50 Shades and getting all hotted up this weekend, may I suggest you take my advice and not yell any of the following at the screen?

Actually, scratch that. You should for sure yell that last one. With Milk Duds in your mouth. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!