Tag Archives: Sarcasm

50 Shades of dissapointed…

1 Aug

Nothing disappoints me more than wasting my time. Except of course, wasting my money. Or spilling a martini.

Thank god my Mom bought this trilogy and I got to download it for FREE. So there’s at least that. Oh, and that this little trilogy thingy gave me something to snark about. #FTW

I skimmed through finished the book in like two days. My friend Molly warned me that the sex scenes would spiral into mind-numbingly boring, so I was prepared at least for that. But the plot and writing was just so freaking absurb.

And it kinda pisses me off they refer to this as Mommy Porn. First, that’s demeaning to mom’s who like to get their freak on, and second, this was less e-rotica and more poor-rotica, so I found this hilarious picture that about sums it all up.

It’s been weeks since I finished the book and I am now just getting around to writing the review. Why you ask? Well, because I was raised on the adage “if you have nothing nice to say, then don’t say anything… until you have something really good and biting ready.”

The thing that disappointed me so much about this book is that it barely took off its panties to sit on the rim of sexual decadence. I expected a more uninhibited view into the world of psychological and sexual exploits.

Plus, these two characters are so annoying that I just want to flog the shit out of them both. And unfortunately, for them, they’d enjoy it, so what’s the point?

So I decided to not even bother picking stupid plot points out and mocking the crap out of them. Sorta. On the other hand, if you want a succinct review read Richard Branson’s – I’ll fly Virgin fo sho now!

Instead, I’ve decided to devote this blog to fantasizing about how the movie is going to capture the pure essence of certain scenes.

  • Tampon: Remember when Christian literally yanked the tampon out of Ana’s hoohaw so they could have sex? I almost puked at that – so I feel sorry in advance for the key grip.
  • Blow jobs: There is nothing our girl doesn’t enjoy more than playing the saxophone and even more fantastic for her is the instrument’s climactic finale.
  • Washing Toys: I can’t wait to see how they tackle this one. Open scene… Ana walking downstairs with butt plug in hand (pun intended) and runs into the maid on the way, who is clearly on her way to that playroom to clean the peen filled sheets. If there’s a God out there, she will write the scene with the humor that this affords. Please close up on the maids face when she’s taking inventory of the toy chest. Please!

My tip to you, if you haven’t read these books, is to hurry up and do so! You’ll either love it or hate it. Either way, conversations with and among women have never been more livelier, so for that, EL James, thanks. Errr, laters baby.

I’ve lost it…

9 May

I seem to have lost something. Maybe I left it in a drawer in my old house. Or it’s sitting in a box on a shelf in my storage closet? I used to carry it with me every day and now *poof* it’s simply gone.

The odd thing is I don’t remember losing it. I guess I didn’t even notice it was missing, which is almost more upsetting than not having it anymore.

I’m talking about my snark. My passion for sarcasm and antics. My funny.

I used to find this hilarious…

I’ve worn it like a trench coat covering my naked body, allowing me to flash my goods at random passersby and feeling all proper at the same time.

Just a year ago, I was discussing the family dominatrix with my friend’s father. Just before that, I was dancing on a table with a hot young actor. Since then, nuttin.

So now I begin the hunt for my old humor and mirth. I’ll start at Walmart to see if I can find it there.

Does this really need a caption?

My winking ass…

7 Apr

I think the hiatus is over. The writer’s strike has ended with an increase in snark and immaturity. (Preface: I have no particular problem with large ladies, I’m just relating the antics here…)

For example, today my bestie, T-bomb, and I were at our favorite local hangout for our bacon, lettuce, tomato, and avocado sammies (except she ruins it by putting Feta cheese on hers). We’re drinking some vino and laughing and maybe feeling sentimental because we’re here after all to start the packing party (the ex and I just sold the place). And then, out of nowhere, she turns around, and with extreme shock tells me “Shut up! I know that chick over there – in the barf pink shirt!”

I disregarded the whole SHUT UP thing cuz that’s what besties do.

I see pepto-dismal bitch and ask what’s the backstory (I’ve been finding EVERYTHING has a back story…) And she proceeds to tell me that some little piglet had been bullying T-bomb’s gorgeous girl for years and one night, during a school dance where T-bomb was chaperoning, she had the udder misfortune of running into the little piglet and her farm friends. Who were oinking and pointing at her beautiful girl.

Apparently, Farmville isn’t a myth on Facebook. It’s alive and well, and snuffling in the suburbs.

So T-bomb decided enough is enough, the trough was E M P T Y.

Nice teeth, but you smell like shit. Just saying.

She flipped her hair and confronted the little swine. “I’m watching you. Keep this in mind.”

Later, after the dance, T-bomb was feeling pretty proud of herself – no one is gonna mess with my kid! But then, dun-dun-dun! Here comes the little piglet’s mama. She had the nerve to put her pudgy finger in T’s face and snarl “You talked to my daughter?”

T: Um, yeah.

Mean mama: The next time you have something to say, you can say it to me.

T: Well, the next time your daughter tries to bully mine, we’ll have a problem.

Mean mama: *snuffle* Oh yeah? You think I care?

T: You better care.

Mean mama: *glaring* This isn’t over.

T: Yes, it is.

G L A R E

………………

So today, I saw the Mean Mama and I gotta say, I’m afraid. Besides the barf pink t-shirt, she looked friggin scary. I wouldn’t want to tangle with that one.

But I gotta give high props to the T for protecting her girl. Mother’s love knows no limits. Especially when it comes to confronting scary women whose nasty daughters are mean girls. Or little piglets as T puts it.

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