Have I mentioned how much I hated Fifty Shades of Grey? How I find that it bastardized the erotica genre with its poorly written passages and introducing the worse narrator I’ve ever met? It made Twelve read like Hemingway. Yet somehow the mass majority of people were tricked into thinking they were reading something authentic. Even worse, it spawned a plethora of copy cats and parodies, all of which I avoided like the plague (cliche much? Yeah, well, I’m not gonna give you anything but cliches when I’m talking about a book that is a cliche). That was  until I found Fifty Shades of Red Riding Hood. While the story is poorly written, it’s supposed to be like that. So rather than correcting the…