51 Shades of Grey or this one goes to 11.

Posted: October 2, 2012 in Humor, Literature, Music
Tags: , ,

Spinal Tap is one of the funniest films ever made. Period. End of discussion. Bruce and I agree on this wholeheartedly. Rarely does a film come around that so entirely embraces and then redefines the medium that all others which follow are merely rehashes of someone else’s idea of art. Feh, we say to the poseurs, Feh! Filled with clever bon mots and stingingly pointed one liners, Spinal Tap has almost as many quotable lines as Shakespeare. It is that good.

One of the lines that stands out is when Nigel Tufnel is describing his new amp as being more powerful than all other previously manufactured amps, “This one goes to eleven.” Yes it does, yes it does. It is one better, one stronger, one louder. Who could ask for anything more? Why, we do. If that simple but brilliant thought process could be applied to anything, we could quickly improve the world’s condition quickly without having to come up with a single creative idea on our own, thus putting us out of business. Thinking that hard is, well, hard. There isn’t that much Tylenol in the world to cope with the myriad headaches created by such effort.

This one indeed goes to 11!

So it is with that in mind, we have applied a similar yet equally effective adjustment to the literary 21st century equivalent of Spinal Tap, and that’s Fifty Shades of Grey. Coming just in time for holiday gift giving is our new book, Fifty-One Shades of Grey. Figuratively speaking, this book goes to 11. It is better, it is stronger, and it is certainly louder. If 50 is good, then 51 must better, right? Damn straight it is!

And like the group Spinal Tap’s music, ours too is completely derivative. No new ideas, just more of the same warmed-over, groin-grinding, bodice-busting, beach-season reading pulp guaranteed to titillate or at the very least offend. After all, art exists to shock. If you liked 50, you’re gonna love 51! Or so says the new advertising campaign to be launched next week.

Now it would be easy to just build on what 50 has created. If that many people liked it, how hard could it be? After all since the reading level in this country is so low, we must make certain it can’t have many poly-syllabic words. (Bruce so loves using that word. He thinks it makes him sound professorial. Personally, I think it makes him sound effete, but who I am to deny him his small pleasures?)

Wait until you read 51!

We have made a concerted effort though to create something mildly different though. Were we to have actually read 50, we feel like we would have been plagiarizing it and that is just too much work. Everything about 51 is our concept of what 50 is, could have been, and maybe will be when it grows up. So without further fanfare, here is an excerpt from our upcoming novel and its already planned sequels. So, ladies, get the kids to bed; send the husband out to find the latest drug-induced flavor of Ben and Jerry’s, get the bottle of Pinot Grigio out of the fridge and pour yourself the first of many glasses, and turn the fan on. It’s going to get warm in here.

Excerpt: “My name is Steele. Ms. Steele to you. I’m here to see Mr. Grey or whatever he’s calling himself these days.”

His assistant was not thrilled with the tone I’d taken so pre-emptorily. She was probably used to being the cheese around here. Well, I was about to curdle her 51 ways until Sunday.

“Mr. Grey is not in,” she hissed.

Hissing back, I let my voice claw her pretty, little, vacant head, “Don’t give me any of that crap. His new car is in his spot and I saw his door close as I came in. Are you going to get out of my way or am I going to have run over you?” She was no longer the cheese now.

After a longish stare fight, Steele’s door opened and out walked the man. He was not what I expected. He had the look of an emaciated Eastern European left too long in a dank, cheap night club without any Stoli available. Deprivation’ll do that to you. “Ahh, you must be Ms. Steele, Anastasia. I’ve been expecting you. Come in.” Looking at his seething assistant, he told her it was alright and that she could go back to her day-trading.

“So Ms. Steele, have you brought the package? Is it complete?”

I gave him the once over, well the twice-over. For someone with a prison pallor, he commanded attention with his smoldering dark eyes, his short hair, and his Christian Bale “Mechanic” look. I liked it. I leaned over his desk and slowly, enticingly opened what he was so in need of and expecting. “Yes, they’re right here. Would you like to taste them?”

“No, that’s not necessary, thank you. I ordered six boxes of Thin Mints, four Samoas, and two Peanut Butters. I trust they are all there?”

End of excerpt.

Hooked? No doubt. Good, huh? No, not really but then neither is 50 Shades of Grey. But, ours is one larger.

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