[Charlotte Mullin | Contributing Writer] What better way to kick start the Valentine’s Weekend than by watching a movie glorifying domestic abuse and sexual assault? I am, of course, referring to the cinematic adaptation of one of the worst attacks on literature since the Destruction of the Library of Alexandria: 50 Shades of Grey. The first novel in E. L. James’ bafflingly popular saga tells the tale of Anastasia Steele, a young woman who is inexplicably drawn to Christian Grey for reasons unknown beyond the fact that he is handsome and rich. Since it has been impossible to turn your head without having this franchise shoved down your throat, you probably have the plot memorised; Mr. Grey is revealed to be into BDSM, and entangles Ana in a sordid affair involving chains, whips, blindfolds, and an assortment of kinky shenanigans which had middle-aged women across the country reading the book with one hand free. You know the rest.
When the series exploded into the limelight in 2011, I decided to see what the fuss was about before passing judgement. Now, there are several things in this world that I just do not like; mayonnaise, selfie sticks, and going to the gym, for example. But I understand the appeal for others, and the idea of somebody liking something I hate is cool with me as long as they don’t force it on me. That being said, I genuinely cannot fathom what is so magnetising about this book. In fact, I was horrified. Not by the idea of BDSM itself – whatever helps you get your jollies is a-ok as long as all parties involved have consented and are respectful of one another. No, I was disgusted because James’ concept of BDSM is fundamentally wrong in all aspects; Christian Grey is an abuser, plain and simple.
Paint the side of a building and then watch it dry.
Accidentally like somebody’s Instagram photo from 33 weeks ago.
Explain BDSM to my mother in a 2 hour seminar.
Go to the Forum sober.
Spend an evening with Katie Hopkins.
Walk to Oceana and back.
Have the series read to me by my grandmother.
Have a fire hose blast me for three solid hours. (I’d probably get as wet as the seats in the cinema.)
Be confined to an eternal purgatory of waiting for the shuttle bus.
Fellate a kitchen knife.
Do my assignments. (Probably the most shocking thing on here.)
Get hooked to an IV of toilet cleaner.
Stay in a room where the furniture is made of spiders.
Be a guest at Robb Stark’s wedding.
Crawl through a mile of burning coal.
Eat wet bread for the rest of my life.
Be stuck in a lift playing nothing but Iggy Azalea.
Be the victim of a Gone Girl-esque situation.
Perform a tracheotomy on myself with a spoon.
Have my face crammed into someone’s sweaty pits for every single commute for the rest of my life.
Actually research BDSM practices. (More than E. L. James did, apparently.)
Use lemon juice as eye drops.
Swallow a gallon of salt water.
Have the inside soles of all of my shoes be made out of Lego.
Tap dance on a floor of upturned plugs.
Drink mayonnaise when I’m dying of dehydration.
Read every single thought I had from ages 12 – 15 to a lecture hall full of my peers.
Consume the hair in my shower drain.
Apply eyeshadow with a razorblade.
Have a permanent wedgie.
Use tampons made out of marshmallow.
Eat the tampon-marshmallow combination after use.
Have an acid enema.
Only be fed through somebody else chewing my food for me and then spitting it into my mouth.
Use bacon grease as moisturiser.
Be forced by sniper-point to turn down Beyoncé.
Vomit slugs every 15 minutes.
Think of 2 Girls 1 Cup every time I’m on the brink of orgasm.
Have a toddler perform open heart surgery on me.
Do the Ice Bucket Challenge with bricks.
Chew through a kitchen worktop.
Feed my hair through a shredder.
Uncontrollably sing Justin Bieber’s discography whenever I try to talk to somebody attractive.
Do a handstand on broken glass.
Shave my legs with a saw.
Have my boobs fondled by Edward Scissorhands.
Use the money I’d spend on tickets, popcorn and a drink to donate to a domestic abuse charity, like this one.
What would you rather do? Let us know @TridentMediaUK!