"A friend of mine had these lying around to let another friend borrow over the weekend. We were talking about them, and she said that they were trashy but entertaining. I told her about how they are Twilight fanfic with the names changed through find-and-replace, and that really soured her on the whole series. Anyway, she said that I should read some of it out loud, and I complied, but on a whim changed Christian's voice to a 300 pound Bill Compton who's constantly out of breath, and Anastasia's voice to a 3-pack-a-day waitress at an Alabama Denny's. It's really more entertaining than it has any right to be, and I now find myself slipping in to my Christian Grey voice out of habit ("Oh Anastasia, let me dominate your inner goddess in my Dale Earnhardt themed helicopter," "Whatever you say, hunny, just let me take a crap first!")."
"All I know is that when I went to the gas station to get my caffeine and I had my Kindle, the kindly tiny little grandmother-looking lady behind the counter said, "Oh, what are you reading?"
"M.R. James," I said. "Old ghost stories." (M.R. James is fun and they were free books.)
"I'm going to start reading that Fifty Shades of Gray book," she confided cheerily. "I've heard it's good!"
"Ah," I said. I'm fairly certain my smile became fixed, and I know I suddenly started darting my eyes around to avoid eye contact. "Well, that's good."
She seemed confused by my reaction. I don't know if that's because she just didn't know what the book was or if she thought that I looked like I'd be interested in bondage. We completed our business transaction in monosyllables.
So this book isn't exactly like porn because goddammit no one at a gas station has ever cheerfully announced to me which of the Butt Blasters series or whatever they intend to watch when they get home that evening. What the hell am I even supposed to say to that? I can barely talk about sex with my spouse, let alone a stranger."
"I'm calling dibs on "Fifty Shades of Crochet," a new fanfic exploring the seedy underbelly of the world of yarn arts. The first chapter takes place in a basement of a Hobby Lobby managed by one Smithson May, a manipulative thousandaire who lures Fantasia Oatmeal into surrendering her knitting needles for a single crochet hook. At some point in the book, it is revealed that Smithson May was severely damaged by an abusive childhood in which he never learned to bind off properly. SPOILER ALERT: There will be amigurumi.
Welcome to my craft room."