Alright, so I finally watched that stupid, softcore chick flick, “50 Shades of Grey.” It might be the worst movie I’ve seen since 2003’s Meg-Ryan-wants-to-lose-her-goody-goody-image-and-inspire-a-future-Miley-Cyrus movie, “In the Cut.” Meg Ryan and Mark Ruffalo underacted that one given the entire script was a steaming pile of banana encrusted poo (damn monkeys), and these idiots did the same thing — it’s an emotionless movie with two full-of-shit characters that no one could possibly give a damn about unless they were just fans because they read the book while drinking a few too many and had the best … ooooh … ohhhh … OHHHH! Yeah. Seriously.

Run-on sentence much? WTF?!

The acting was far less than stellar. As Christian Grey, Jamie Dornan eye-fucked the camera entirely too much, all the while looking like Liam Neeson’s stepson, Sam, in “Love, Actually.” In another interesting parallel, his on-film presence displayed exactly same emotional range as the stark, white DVD cover of “Love, Actually.”

Dakota Johnson’s character, Anastasia Steele, was as lovable and vivacious as Kristin Stewart in Twilight, which puts her just above Grumpy Cat given that she actually cracks a smile a few times. If this is any indication of her acting ability, she would do better sitting on the couch with her father watching old reruns of Miami Vice for tips.

From the opening scene of wondering why Alice — err, Anastasia — fell down a long hole (what?) into some guy’s office, to wondering why the Hell she’s gonna take this kinda shit off a twelve-year-old, it only goes downhill. Oh, he’s a Billionaire. Nevermind. Don’t make me give props to Kanye West… but she ain’t messin’ with a broke, broke … Kim.

As a phenomenon, when you combine “50 Shades of Grey” and the controversy surrounding it with the ravenous feminist blogs that are going around, you kind of expect a little more. I’m going to wait a while before going into the fucked up politics of all that… Seriously, laters, baby… *cough*