As of right now, I am completely fucked up on vodka, so let there be no misconstruing; go fuck your Nigger-loving self and go fuck yourself doubly if you employ a Mexican; I'm not racist, I just believe that hedges should be trimmed accordingly. (Incidentally, if you wanna cut my grass, I'm in area code 53219. I'm sure I can wrassle up a taco or two to compensate . . . . or seven dollars. If nothing else, you can smell my finger as to get a whiff of what White pussy comes by free of a cover charge.)
Let me not deflect, though. I also try to not be prejudice against vampires, but shit happens.
As one gets older and more jaded, tolerance levels diminish as to how much bullshit a person can sustain before simulating any instance of the average deaf person's day; it's called filtering. Actually, I'd like to consider this skill to be natural selection for the unimpaired because being smart enough to acknowledge bullshit and have the instinctive reflex to turn away from bullshit/not listen to bullshit makes me feel good. About myself.
Me.
Others, I'm afraid, often befall victim to bullshit, and when I say "others" I'm referring to roughly 80 million females on Earth today. It's not really their faults, either, because accusing them of doing something wrong would warrant punishment, and nobody has that kind of time to walk around the country and punch that many women nor is there enough cord to administer electroshock onto these Vagisil users who all have this passion for
Twilight.
You should really see these broads if you haven't been exposed to them yet. The readers, and might I say, the least lazy fans of
Twilight, carry this book around as if it were signed by Jesus H. Himself. We can assume these chicks just want the attention by bringing this novel into their workplace, to the gym, to Planned Parenthood on the half side of an abortion and whatnot and don't actually retain anything their eyes peruse on the pages. This sits as logical to me because if a woman is simple enough in the brain to be an avid fan of
Twilight so much as to go beyond everyone's expectations and read the book before the movie comes out, the pistons in her brain are already misfiring and she simply won't understand the plutonium-filled, shit bomb of janky literature she's reading anyway.
Fuck that bitch.
Now, as to fill my chi with some good karma, I wasn't going to make this a misogynistic, one-sided harangue about how most women are susceptible to drivel such as
Twilight, because as I said these women are just life supports for brain cells consisting of nothing more than mashed potatoes and do not know any better. In return, we needn't fret of not having material to poke the funny stick at since
Twilight itself is littered with enough nonsensical shenanigans thrown together to give ample enjoyment.
Your girlfriend watches
Twilight and becomes inspired --> You watch
Twilight and become pissed off. Know why? Just some mediocre observations on my part:
THERE'S NO SEX
That's right. The teenagers of modern society have collectively voted with their dollar bills that Twilight is this generation's fairy tale love story to end all incompetent Danielle Steele novels, even after sly Ed doesn't give her the high and mighty one.
A whole lot of snuggling; whole mess of kissy-face and verbal sentiments . . . but guess what? No fuck.
VAMPIRES DON'T TYPICALLY HAVE VENEREAL DISEASE. WHY? BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE SEX ORGANS. DUMB CUNT.
This dates back to the 1800s and tales of vampirism. A vampire having a cock is just as ludicrous as someone writing a novel about Bigfoot and the main draw to the storyline was that the hairy bastard were an elite surfer, therefore just as you might be wondering, I would rather fellate a jellyfish than put precious minutes of my life into believing a vampire in high school could knock up a mortal and have a vampire baby, which is exactly what happens in novel four of this fine, fine series . . . but we'll get to that in a bit.
Being infatuated with
Twilight is just like listening to rap music. It's the same shit that's been spat onto the screen for the last 20 years; it just has a different bow on the package of bullshit.
Twilight came out 15 years ago; It was simply enveloped in a different package entitled
Pretty Woman: Some dipshit broad lost in life finds salvation and justifies her existence on an unorthodox male figure and squeezes every bit of resource out of him to make herself feel virtuous, because otherwise before every brushing of her own teeth she would simply vomit into her own mouth at how she's just not the prom queen mommy had once told her she was. Sob.
WEREWOLVES DON'T EXIST, EVEN MORE THAN VAMPIRES.
Look, I'd mildly entertained the second movie while seated with one of my ex fuck toys from Christmas time, but I only tried the movie out because that's what boyfriends are supposed to do sometimes: pretend that whatever the broad has passion for, share similar interest in because that ups the chances she will fuck you with vigor later on in the evening. Fail.
Don't bother with
New Moon. The first 40 minutes or so was like sitting in a waiting room littered with cancer patients and handicapped people: you don't want to look at anyone and the sense of being increasingly uncomfortable overwhelms you until the grinding of the enamel off your teeth is unavoidable because you know you're better than everyone else in the room. The feeling that had originally overcame me while watching
New Moon was so horribly similar to that of my very own mind set while lying in bed intoxicated on any given Friday evening, which was: 'why get up to take a piss when I could simply just keep lying here, piss the bed and go to sleep in my very own filth yet all the while be comfortable enough to pass out again.'
In fact, rather than finish watching
New Moon ever again in my life span, I would irreversibly opt to piss in my bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, embrace a siesta while my urine became warm along with the milk, then 7 hours later intravenously inject that General Mills/Deans offering into my bloodstream because I strive for a lower level of physical pain than watching that catastrophe of filmmaking. For the masses, the only possible way you should be tolerant of
New Moon to its fullest extent is if you're on death row and the TV/VCR combo in your cell is acting a bit fussy the night before doomsday.
Just watch it and you will welcome electrocution.
As I recall, watching my pirated version of
New Moon became so horrific, I'd began to knead the hairs in my very own taint, and I shave quite often so obviously they weren't long enough to warrant the slightest of attention: Yes,
New Moon sucks that badly, yet I kept on truckin'.
So then the 45'ish minute hit of
New Moon and just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the Jacob dude turned into a werewolf.
Fucking Christ, help me.
It was at that point I realized I could never retrieve the previous 50 minutes of my life back and I began to panic. All I could think was, "Holy fucking Mary Mother Jesus Christ in Hell!! This broad read the book and knew this was going to happen and still allowed me to watch it. Even if she did want to fuck me with vigor later on, I would in no possible way be in the mood to share my DNA with a woman whom obviously does not have my best interest at heart; look at what she just subjected my mind to! Son of a bitch, I could have been playing Peggle!"
BELLA
A teenage girl with no parental guidance, werewolves, vampires, necking, everlasting love in high school . . . a single male father figure who apparently deeply cared for his long lost, pubescent cock tease of a daughter after all those years; bitch, please. If Bella were real, she would have already been a stripper, been flipped ten ways from Sunday from 5 different pimps just to support her heroin addiction. Fuck, I don't even wanna think about how many cell phone companies she owes money to. Holy shit! Let's not get started on what her landlord feels.
What crap and utter dross.
MY "ECLIPSE"
There is good news, though. I keep my ear to the streets, thusly word has turned up that Edward does convert Bella into a vampire in novel/movie four. They, in fact, have a baby, and that infant apparently grows quicker than a beanstalk, which should make Jack happy. For this, I am equally happy: it means logically I should never again be surrounded by dodo bird females sporting t-shirts that proclaim "Team Edward" or "Team Jacob." For this brand of lunacy it takes to sink the pink, I take refuge in my little corner of the world entitled sanity, and that place is so spectacular it makes me wanna cum on my own face instead of Bella's cunt because
Twilight shouldn't inspire anyone.
It shouldn't inspire the most salivating retard in Arizona, either, but shit happens because that's where the author of
Twilight entered adulthood. I imagine her haphazard success is similar to that of a cursing Eskimo who'd picked the first dandelion in Alaska: "Fuck! You got no idea what you're doing; that's not a flower!" Or it could be equivalent to that of the person who'd seen the first mahogany mammal smoke crack, "What the fuck you doing? We snort that shit, Nigga . . . oh sheeeeeeeit . . . this is boss, Nigga!"
Stephenie Meyer fucked up so much here that the aftermath of her creation is so mother-fucking detrimental to me that I just spit up my vitamin, One A Day, as the Major League Baseball Association says I should take. This has to mean something because I haven't puked since 1996, and I won't lie, I just regurgitated something that wasn't supposed to be in my fat fucking gut along with what I got at the Burger King drive-thru 9 hours ago. I think it was the thought of two more movies having yet to surface that did it.
I don't know about you, but I will easily jab an asbestos-filled tampon up my peehole before finishing the
Twilight saga.
FACTS
In life, I've yet to come across a turnip that has ever inspired me.
I've also yet to run into a male fan of Twilight.
Twilight was written by a woman who has a turnip where her brain should be.
Shit, instead of me writing and you reading this entire post, I suppose I could have said "fuck agriculture" in the beginning and saved everyone ten minutes. My fault.