Somewhere out there, there is someone
who had a Creative Writing class in college
with E.L. James.

He remembers her
as that annoying sheltered Mormon girl in class
always telling people about how great a writer she was
and reciting her bad poetry
to anyone who pretended to listen.

He remembers fondly
the time she sobbed to her friends
because of the D she got on her final project
and the time the professor told her:
"Sometimes passion just isn't enough.
You've got to have talent too."

He knew that if he never made it as a writer
at least he could take solace in the fact that
wasn't as bad as that Erika chick.

After college, he cried weekly
over his mountain of rejected manuscripts
and eventually abandoned the pursuit of his art altogether
in favor of work that pays the bills.

Years later,
he comes home from work
at his 9-12 factory job
he finally, reluctantly, gives in to his wife's demands
to take up ******* in the bedroom -

- and Mid-****** she calls him Christian Grey

So, what I'm saying is this:
Somewhere out there, there is someone
who killed their loving wife in sudden rage -
because of poorly written Twilight fanfiction.