I have to tell you, reader, I was warned about this book. Sure, I expected a difficult road. After all, I’d been through 50 Shades of Grey. But this book. This. Book. Ms. Ana Bobanaball Steele’s memoirs are just pages, just so many pages, with random words but nothing happening. And by nothing, I mean, once again . . .
No, seriously, not funnin’ here. It’s the same thing, over, and over, and over. For pages, and pages, and pages, and pages, and pages and pages and arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Excuse me. We are halfway through here. I’m stocked up on alcohol. Time to interview someone. And then go stick my head in a toilet and die. Next up is – Jesus hates me more than you will know, guys. It’s Mrs. Robinson.
Alice: Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson.
Mrs. Robinson: My name is Elena. Isn’t it a little early to be drinking hard liquor?
Alice: Nooope. So. You were friends with Christian’s mom, right?
Mrs. Robinson: Yes, that is correct.
Alice: So you thought, hey, since we’re such good friends, she probably wouldn’t mind if I used her 15 year old as my sex slave and beat the snot out of him and sexed him up and just generally screwed with his mind for years. What are friends for, right? Right?
Mrs. Robinson: I do believe you’re drunk.
Alice: I am not nearly drunk enough, lady. Let’s get on with it. You are still, uh, friends with Christian and own a business with him. Naturally. And you just show up randomly on his doorstop for kicks?
Mrs. Robinson: It was not random. I am being blackmailed!
Alice: By who?
Mrs. Robinson: I do not know. I came to Christian for advice.
Alice: That actually kind of makes sense, considering. Bet Ana got her knickers in a twist. That’s a Britishism you know, for underwear.
Mrs. Robinson: I just don’t know about that Ana. She hurt my Christian!
Alice: Riiiight. And only you get to do that! With a flogger, am I right?
Mrs. Robinson: Tut tut. Only the best riding crops for my sex slaves.
Alice: So sorry, my mistake. So you came over just to talk about someone blackmailing you. That it?
Mrs. Robinson: Well, yes.
Alice: Not. Good. Enough. Plot. You need to have something to do with the plot. There should be a plot. Where is the plot? Where is ittttttttt????????
Mrs. Robinson: How many drinks have you had now?
Alice: Never-you-mindeh that. Okay, so you hates Ana. Big whoopeh. So dooo we alls. Do you wanta kill hersh? Cause, cause I knowth some peoples can helps wit that.
Mrs. Robinson: I don’t want to kill anybody. Who do you think I am?
Alice: Child molessssttteh. Or somethink. Yous shouldth find um that um Leila! Yeah, Yeah! And Jacker, Jack Hyde!
Mrs. Robinson: Oh, I know Jack Hyde. I used to screw with him too.
Alice: Wait. Did . . . Jamesth writes that? Can’t ‘member.
Mrs. Robinson: Well, no, but it only makes sense. Anyway, Jack told me she is a terrible employee. A week on the job and not a single blowjob in sight. So hard to find good help these days! She emailed Christian a lot – ohhh, he just writes the sexiest emails.
Alice: I hahhhhve a game. You drink – whens they emails. Issth so great.
Mrs. Robinson: Ah, but I’m getting off track. I just put a little camera in Ana’s hair clip. That way I can watch Ana and make sure she doesn’t hurt my poor widdle Christi-poo.
Alice: Drinksss for stalkings! Wooot!
Mrs. Robinson: Yes, the camera is handy. Well, except for the sex. They had sex on the piano, which I do not think is the proper way to play that instrument.
Alice: Drinksss for sexxxy timesssss!
Mrs. Robinson: Anyway, they spoke on the phone, and they argued playfully, and Ana’s friend Kate’s brother came and he was so gorgeous, of course, and all the girls were jealous and naturally he was in love with Ana, because for some reason all men are.
Alice: Drinkkksss for mens in loves with Ana!
Mrs. Robinson: Ana had some more useless conversations, and then she and Christian and Ethan and the security team went to Ana’s apartment and here is where it gets exciting! Alice, wake up. I think you’re about to pass out.
Alice: Wh-what? Excitings?
Mrs. Robinson: Yes. When Ana walked in her apartment, there was Leila. With a gun!
Alice: Heeeere’s to Leila!
Mrs. Robinson: Alice . . . hmm, I’ll just let you take that little nap on the floor, then.*
* That was a nice nap. Bitchin’ headache later, though. I might need hard drugs for the next chapter.
I picked up a Bible today (it happens! No lightning bolts either!) and opened to a random page. And it occurred to me that, just as your average citizen has as much chance of predicting the stock market as a broker, that I could find meaning in this book as well as a concordance or a preacher. I mean, that’s why we got Martin Luther – so we can screw up this ancient text along with the priests.
Anyway, despite being raised a middle-class heathen, I have always had a fascination with this book. Most people do not like to do Bible study with me, since I spend the entire time asking silly questions like “Why is that guy named Beazlethorp?” So I will just have to study this on my blog (don’t worry, I’ll go back to other meaningful things, like hellish children’s shows, next time).
The Samaritan Woman
This is a story from the Old Testament’s sequel, the New Testament, in which God has a kid who tries to save the world and all sorts of predictably bad stuff comes of it. This particular story has Jesus taking a load off by a well owned by a Samaritan woman. Now I’d heard of Samaritans (there was a good one) but I wasn’t sure what they were, so I turned to my library research skills and picked this up from Wikipedia: “Based on the Samaritan Torah, Samaritans claim their worship is the true religion of the ancient Israelites prior to the Babylonian Exile, preserved by those who remained in the Land of Israel, as opposed to Judaism, which they assert is a related but altered and amended religion brought back by those returning from exile.”
Got that? Me neither. Moving on.
Jesus says “Gimmie some water.” Sheesh, Jesus, didn’t Mary teach you to say please? Were ya born in a barn? No matter, she’s way ruder back to him. She says, “No way, cause you’re a Jew and we Samaritans don’t deal with you.” Ah, random prejudice! Now Jesus, being God’s son with awesome super powers, could do one of three things at this point:
A) smite the crap out of her
B) teach her about God and stuff
C) ignore her. I mean, it’s a woman.
Jesus, being Jesus, decides to tell her about God. But tells her in his usual way –with riddles. He has to get his jollies somehow. So Jesus says, “Well your water is not so great, my water is living water. And if you drink it, you’ll get eternal life.” Which makes one wonder why he asked for water in the first place. Well, she thinks that sounds pretty cool, so she asks for some of his water. And Jesus tells her to get her husband, and when she fibs to him, he points out that she’s had five husbands. Oh, oh, Jesus googled stalked her! But she’s impressed and says “You must be a prophet! Any idea when that Messiah guy is coming?” And Jesus – looking all cool – is all, “Yeah, that’s me, pretty much.”
Then the Disciples (I like to call them the 12 Stooges) show up and want to know why he’s talking to a girl. And the girl goes into the village to tell everybody how he knew all this stuff about her, and wondering if he’s the Messiah or just a stalker. Then we’re back to the disciples, and they’re trying to get Jesus to eat something (great, this is going to be like the water thing again, right?) Bingo. He tells them he has food they don’t know about. Nanner.
So the disciples, who keep in mind KNOW he talks in riddles, take it literally and ask “Hey, did you give him food? No way, did you?” And Jesus, after slapping them each on the back of the head (it doesn’t say this, but I’m thinking it had to happen), says “My food is to do the will of him who sent me.” Well, did he will you to have a sandwich? I could just imagine going out to eat with him. “I’ll have a living water and the will of God. To go.” Anyway, he goes on to talk about reaping and harvesting and stuff, because apparently the writers have ADD and totally forgot about the rude well woman. And Jesus never did get a lousy drink.
So that’s the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. The meaning of it is to be nice and give someone water, cause you never know, it might be the Messiah, and he might want to tell you a long, confusing story. I think.