Fifty Shades: What hits the fan

Ladies, who are we kidding with this? Ourselves. Each other. If you have happened upon this series, and participated in reading them, I will chalk it up to a moment of weakness, of indiscretion, perhaps of temporary insanity. But you insist upon defending this insipid junk porn, or worse, recommending it to others, I must take issue with you. You cannot blame anyone but yourselves for the perpetuation of ignorant female characters in literature, for the promotion of domestic violence, and for the misdirection of our daughters into the hands of men who will devalue them in every way.

After researching this vapid piece of cultural excrement that is known as "Fifty Shades," I have come up with a list of responses to those who would attempt to defend it. Many of them are analogies to eating poop.

Gullable and undiscerning: I wanted to read it just to see what all the fuss was about, and I had to finish reading it, because I always finish what I start.

Translation: Everyone was eating this thing, and I realized halfway through that it was poop, but I thought, well, I always finish what I start. (See Ratatouille. Q."What are you eating?" A."I don't really know.")

Lusty lady: Well, the violence and dominating aspects bothered me a little, but it really energized my sex life.

Translation: So, I ate this giant pile of poop, and buried deep within it was some chocolate that really gave me a sugar rush. It's not for everyone, but it really helped me.

Hopelessly delusional: It's only the first book in which he abuses her. He's really just hurting on the inside. After reading all the books, you can see that she heals him from his brokenness.

Translation: I ate this poop because everyone told me I could eat candy for dessert. (AND, by the way, isn't the abused woman's mantra, "Oh, you just don't know him like I do." Mix with a big dose of "I can change him," and call me when you're an emotional and physical wreck. Or dead. You could be dead, but then you couldn't call.)

Bandwagoner: I saw that everybody was reading this book, and I thought it looked a littler naughtier than my usual reads, but I had to read it to keep up with the culture. It's harmless fun.

Translation: I knew it was a big pile of poop, but everyone was eating. It's fun to eat something other than what I usually eat, and I didn't want to be left out of talking about how fun it was to eat the poop.

Avid reader: Well, at least it gets people reading.

Translation: Better to eat poop than to starve.

Finally, one thing to ask yourselves...

If Christian Grey sported a mullet and a handlebar moustache, wore a grease-stained t-shirt with flannel pajama pants, lived in his parents' basement, had missing teeth and bad breath, would his behavior still excite you?

If the answer is no, you have been seduced into accepting a horrifying and damaging situation by the glitz and glamor of a wealthy, high-powered, and well-groomed monster.

Don't see the movie. Don't promote the books. Don't laugh it off. Spread the word. It's not too late.