The 18 Best Worst Sentences from Fifty Shades of Grey

Hey! It’s Banned Books Week! Last year, I swore that, for Banned Books Week, I would read Fifty Shades of Grey.

I would like to point out that I never said I would read it quickly.

But I did finish it, and here, as promised, are the best worst sentences I could find. Some are NSFW, obviously.

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“I am all gushing and breathy—like a child, not a grown woman who can vote and drink legally in the state of Washington.”

 

“I wrap my arms around myself and turn to face the road and note with relief that the green man has appeared.”

 

“Drinking in the cool evening air in the parking lot makes me realize how drunk I am.”

 

“The elevator whisks me at terminal velocity to the twentieth floor.”

 

“Pulling off his boxer briefs, his erection springs free.”

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“I stare down at my fingers, knowing that I am turning puce.”

 

“Holy crap…just-fucked pigtails do not suit me, either.”

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“Christian Grey just sent me a winking smiley…Oh my.”

 

“Ho, my subconscious mouths at me.”

 

“‘I’ll agree to the fisting, but I’d really like to claim your ass, Anastasia.'”

 

“I smile involuntarily as I recall being in his arms as he spun me around his living room, so unexpected, and he has my panties somewhere.”

 

“He moves the glass again and leans down, kissing me and depositing a small shard of ice in my mouth with a little wine.”

 

“…from makeup remover to soothing balm for a spanked ass, who would have thought it was such a versatile liquid.”

 

“‘Contrary to what your roommate believes, I’m not a priapic monster.'”

 

“‘The woman who brought me into this world was a crack whore, Anastasia. Go to sleep.'”

 

“My subconscious has her Munsch’s Scream face on again.”

 

Fuck, this is sexier than the toothbrush. 

 

“His breathing is mounting, his ardor…Holy cow—his erection…we’re in a field.”

 

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Your Excitement About Kroger Is Killing My Dreams

This article makes me irrationally angry.

It’s an article from my local paper. It tells about hundreds of local citizens lining up on a Thursday morning.

What were they lining up for, you ask? Was it the midnight release of a new dystopian space wizard movie? Free food for a year? A magical boutique that appears one day out of every thousand to grant its customers their deepest desires?

No.

Kroger.

Just a Kroger.

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People ask why I hate living in Indiana, and stuff like this is pretty close to the top of the list. I live in a state that is so drowned in ennui that not one, not dozens, but huuuuuundreds of people think a grocery store opening is the be-all, end-all of the human experience.

Oh, what’s that? I’m sorry, I misspoke. It’s not just a Kroger, it’s a suuuuper-Kroger! It’s a Kroger the size of a Walmart! I could understand the impact that might make if there wasn’t a Walmart one literal mile away. And if Walmarts and their ilk didn’t have the general ambiance of concentration camps for frozen TV dinners.

And I don’t hate Kroger. Kroger is fine. But that is absolutely all it is. There is no good reason to be outside a Kroger when it is not open, unless they are promising shopping carts full of free food, or Jesus himself is offering fantastic deals on fishes and bread loaves of questionable origin.

If anyone asks, this is the definitive answer to ‘Why can’t we have nice things?’ Because you don’t want nice things! You pee your pants with glee over grocery stores! Not even new grocery stores, but slightly bigger versions of grocery stores that used to be half a mile up the road!

This is why music and art and interesting restaurants and creative entrepreneurship are dead in Indiana. Why would you try your best to make something great, when all the people here want is another fucking Kroger?

 

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Chameleons of Karmic Hue are Seldom Kept in View

I’ve always had a soft, unspoken, karmic view of life
Though never voiced, it’s always burrowed down inside my mind
But as the law of averages applies to joy and strife
A different philosophy is what I’ve come to find

For long I’ve thought that doing bad will always make you sad
Convinced that happy moments come from doing what you should
But every good decision’s on the path to moments bad
As much as every bad one leads to every day that’s good

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There is No Cookie at the End

Oh, I like to write a poem
When I feel that I’ve been being
Altogether far too useful
So as to be very careful
Not to send the wrong idea

If you get into the habit
Of, to other people being
A supremely useful fellow
Then they’re likely to expect it
Any time that they should see ya

So if people start depending
On the rate of your production
Wreck assumptions with a poem
It is guaranteed to throw ’em
Like a bop upon the nose

But if now they cry for poems
And demand that you continue
To supply, ad infinitum
You must jar them off quite firmly
With a helpful bit of prose explaining that while you appreciate their patronage, the level of dependency they show is a trifle alarming, and that while escapism is fine, no artist can ultimately provide the sense of meaning that we all strive for, that to do so would, in actuality, be an unfair replacing of the audience’s sense of self with that of the poet or playwright or songsmith, and that, in the end, everyone will let you down, be it friend or family member or favorite author, but you cannot use that as an excuse not to seek connection, only to be aware that all will, in time, fail you, and furthermore, that an author does not write for his audience, but for himself, which of course, is seven soggy pounds of horseshit, because if he wasn’t writing for an audience, he wouldn’t be writing at all, just sitting around thinking all day until he shriveled up from malnutrition, but what it actually means is that the author or poet or screenwriter, though writing for you, is not necessarily writing to please you, but may seek to challenge you with uncomfortable concepts, exercise your feelings with emotionally-wrenching imagery, or galvanize you into action through lack of closure, but ultimately, to express his or her unique self to you, and that can’t be changed or adapted to meet some larger consensus on ‘the way people ought to be’ because we are all different, as different as one snowflake is from another, only more so, because snowflakes at least share the commonality of being delicate crystals of frozen water, and we are hairless mammals with different heights, weights, skin colors, hair colors, religions, political views, sexual orientations, histories, preferences, fears, birthdays, genetic predilections, flaws, and glories, so of course we’re going to come to heads, of course we’re going to disagree, of course we’re going to marshal armies and wage wars and drop bombs over the proper way to break boiled eggs, but the reason we write poetry, the reason we paint portraits, the reason we make books and movies and songs and television shows and podcasts and video games and Facebook posts and blogs and tweets and Youtube videos and operas and fan fiction and tiny sculptures made out of paper clips, the reason we live and breathe and eat and fuck, the reason for all of it is found in those split-second moments where unlike meets unlike and finds something in common, says ‘I see you, I know you, I am you,’ and that’s all there is to it. All there is. Now it’s your turn.

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A Surfeit of Somethings

I was so busy doing somethings
Big blue rolly somethings
Little orange crinkly somethings
Somethings left hanging on the line
Somethings buried under old piles of newspaper
A something that burned up like a candle, leaving a smell like incense
The irritable something that lives in the toboggan factory at the top of the hill
Three somethings that rhymed with purple, each in different ways
The something you get when you leave the bread out too long
Somethings that wore tuxedos and pretended to work for the government
A something that would have gone away if ignored
Something that had to be done right that very second
Something that went well with egg and mayonnaise
Five somethings that combined into one enormous something
And something else
I was so busy doing somethings
That I entirely forgot to do nothing
And nothing was the only something
That I really needed to do.

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The Morning Commute in D Minor

It was Friday night this Thursday morning
And I partied in the sun as the rain fell down
It felt so good to be next to you as I drove alone
I cried to know I’d lost you, but my cheeks stayed dry
I rage against the machine
Without really feeling anything at all

A spider crawls across the sky
Before colliding with a meteor beetle
Millions of bacterial dinosaurs go extinct

An empty school bus precedes me, periodically stopping
Opening its doors
But neither acquiring nor disgorging children
I wonder what ever happened to my inner child
And whether its face is on a milk carton
Next to someone’s bowl of Cracklin’ Oat Bran

There’s a speed trap up ahead
Police officers like antlions lurking
Waiting for a 32 in a 25
Keeping people safe
I look for the police officer
And a jogger disappears under my wheels
It’s okay
Nobody much cares about joggers
And also there is no police officer

I get to work as the weekend starts
And the party on the radio is just ramping up
The song makes me think that this is the day everything will turn out my way
That today I’ll see the purpose of this daily drudge
It will fall into a greater plan
A complete narrative from beginning to end
But I always arrive at work right in the middle of

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The Biological Imperative to Punch Jason Sudeikis in the Face

There are very few constants in the realm of science, and foremost are these: Gravity, the inevitability of entropy, and the irresistible urge all living beings have to punch Jason Sudeikis.

You just about smashed your monitor there, didn’t you?

Wanting to Punch Jason Sudeikis in the Face: An Overview

It’s an undisputed fact that literally everybody wants to punch Jason Sudeikis. But science has long asked the question, ‘Why’? Is it his career? Is it his personal life? Is it his external links? Or can his punchability be attributed to something that isn’t a subcategory on his Wikipedia page?

Let’s do a little experiment. I’m going to show you a picture of Jason Sudeikis. This is not the real Jason Sudeikis, so please refrain from punching the image this time.

Now let me ask you a question: When you felt the overwhelming urge to punch Jason Sudeikis (which you, of course did feel, by the very fact of your existence and humanity), where did you want to punch him? Did you want to punch him in the career? Did you want to punch him in his personal life? Of course not. You wanted to punch him in the face. And so it is to the face that we must turn…with science!

The Science Behind Wanting to Punch Jason Sudeikis in the Face

Actually, first let’s talk about the psychology of wanting to punch Jason Sudeikis in the face.

The Psychology of Wanting to Punch Jason Sudeikis in the Face

Why does everybody want to punch Jason Sudeikis’ face? He isn’t an ugly person, although, if someone said this to you, your response would most likely be, ‘No, but he will be when I get through with him!’ implying that you are about to punch him in the face. Where does the punch-urge come from?

It’s the smirk.

How can you not want to punch that smirk? No matter how nice the person inside, a smirk like that on the outside will always invite violent repercussion. It’s like the smirk says, “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want that last piece of peanut butter fudge that Cheryl from accounting brought in? Shucks, sorry, but I already picked it up and everything. That’s too bad. But hey, my needs got met. That’s all I really care about. Sucks to be you!”

And now we can discuss the science.

The Science Behind Wanting to Punch Jason Sudeikis in the Face, For Real This Time

Let’s jump back to evolution times. Neanderthals are neandering all over the place, survival of the fittesting, and getting naturally selected. But, uh oh, what’s this? A genetic outlier! The very first smirker (Sudeikis erectus).

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Does that smirk say, “I have the best interests of the species at heart”? Of course not! That smirk says, “Sorry, but I’ve got to look out for number one! Even if it means the tribe will starve,  I’m gonna eat as much as I want of this mammoth steak, sabertooth filets, and that sweet nutty paste that Oogyl from rock counting brought in.”

And thus, did man learn to fear and to hate the smirker. And whensoever one would smirk, he would be struck down, for the safety of the group. And though many of our behaviors would die off as the survival of the species became more secure, the instinct to punch smirkers remained even to this day.

That is why you want to punch Jason Sudeikis in the face. Now you know. Thanks, Science!

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Thanks for reading, Science fans! Next up, we’ll be covering cooking in Cheryl’s Fudge: Why Is It The Best? A Sociological Perspective. Seriously, Though, It’s Just So Good. How Does She Do That? No, Jason, You’ve Already Had Three Pieces. This Is For Research. Please Go Away Before Someone Punches You in the Face, And By Someone, I Mean Me.

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