So, in a fit of job politics induced rage, I registered myself for fall classes last week. I'll not delve into the details, but the circumstantial evidence that competency and ass-busting does not pay off, while who you blow actually does really peeved a heaping handful of coworkers of late. In response I decided to board the Cartman train and just say, "Screw you guys, I'm goin home." Or to class rather.
Apparently just the simple act of registering makes me more academically minded, as I've been completely drawn to thesis based essays filled with linked resources lately instead of my typical FUG Girls fashion slams. This is not to speak out against the FUG Girls at all; I love those bitches, but I think what it comes down to, is I sorta ready to write research papers again.
Two and a half years of straight slacking and watching reality TV seems to have percolated enough that it actually began to take on the opposite effects, and I just wanna analyze some books, you guys. I'm for real considering swiping the third Twilight from Awesome A's tween daughter just so I can prove through literary analysis that Emo Edward and his lame-ass excuse for a heroine are actually in an abusive relationship and should be a warning to young girls. I'll cite that shit, ya'll.
Thus, I linked the above article because it is totally bad-ass. And the proof that there are non-retarded female writers in the world is definitely a bonus. Seriously. Stephanie Myer should be monitored as a sex offender, and Candace Bushnell should be stripped of her laptop privileges. That shit's insulting. I'm gonna start a collection to send both women back to school for some women studies classes and hope that the feminism sinks in, because if either woman continues to produce the McDonald's-ized pop-lit that they've previously published, then the terrorists have won.