Getting Ready for Fifty Shades of Grey

When it comes to literary pursuits, scum, trash and garbage win hands down over lofty prose about the glories of nature or the wonders of science. In addition to sex between two or more consenting adults, people also love reading about genitalia, and the odder the better. This would explain why my recent post entitled "Transgender Weirdness" got more hits than any I've written since 2013, when I lampooned Jodi Arias, the murderous young woman who slashed her boyfriend 27 times following their sexual encounter.

This fact troubles me about the human race. It's funny, too, since the very same species that goes berserk if you dare to park in a handicapped parking space without a permit will rubberneck greedily over a complete stranger's bizarre -- and fictional -- sexual appetites. The trend is unseemly, low, demeaning and mostly perplexing. I haven't a clue about why it should be, but it helps explain all those deviant priests given to molesting young boys. Clearly even the most pious among us likes to play in the dirt.

All this is prelude to the storm about to be unleashed in a few days when the movie version of "Fifty Shades of Grey" opens in theaters across the country, ironically the day before Valentine's Day. I have not read the book but since I'm not dead I know all about it: It's an erotic story brimming with explicit depictions of sadistic sex, an over-the-top global best-seller that spawned two sequels in quick succession from its can't-write-her-way-out-of-a paper-bag author. I'm sure her copious earnings help soothe an ego battered by the scathing reviews the book received; if not, the money from the movie should definitely do it. One thing can be said about her for sure: she certainly knows her target audience.