Tuesday, June 29, 2010

One Ticket to Pound Town...Err...Forks

I just... I can't... You guys...

OK. I had resolved to myself to go easy on the Twilight rage in future posts because I fear I'm becoming a bit of a one trick pony. Is that the phrase? One hit wonder? The Proclaimers. I'm becoming The Proclaimers, you guys. So I was gonna ease up until I have my thoughts organized into a multi-chapter thesis paper detailing the evils of "the saga" and how we need to protect our innocent daughters from its awful, bubblegum, anti-feminist, pro-submissive message, but then, I saw this:


I just. I mean. I...

I can't not say anything. This is like dangling a hun cal fro yo in front of Bubba, but telling him he can't have any. It's cruel, and ultimately we know how it ends. He whines until he gets the Pinkberry.

At the same time, however, I'm speachless and stuttering. I mean, Twilight Barbie dolls? Of course. I've already trashed the perfume, and if Paris Hilton can bottle her stench, why not crappy teen lit? But the Manllow? Sad. Just so sad.

I mean, the condom, while ridiculous, at least had a good message, which shocked me actually, as in my mind that Mormon Meyer and Sarah Palin are actually the same ignorant fembot created by the male governmental elite to keep us ladies down. I mean, at this point, I reject that either is actually biologically female, because why oh why would you do these things you do to your own gender? Windex the glass ceiling, why don't you?

But really, as I'm sure you all suspected, it's the rubber vampire viberator that really leaves me choking on my words. Firstly, I'm surprised it's not sparkly. And secondly, I don't think the tween audience for whom these "novels" are intended are the ones buying this appliance. It's their awful divorcee mothers who are wearing the "Edward likes cougars" shirt and supporting terrible writing, abusive relationships, and throwing your life away at 17. I mean, clearly their marriages to their high school sweethearts didn't work out, hence the alimony check they're using to buy young adult themed sex toys, so why in the name of Neil Patrick Harris would you tell your daughters that opting for eternal life with their 17 year old boyfriends is a good idea?

I mean, I liked my HS BF a lot. A whole lot. I almost threw away my college plans to run away to Canada with him. What a mistake THAT would have been, let alone letting him chomp on my jugular and then fill me up with sparkle juice so that I'd be stuck with his sorry ass for the rest of eternity. Holy shit. That truly would be Hell on Earth.

But dildos. Lets get back to dildos. It's the self-declared MILFs using the dildos, propped up against the Manllow, imagining taking a trip to pound town with some albino emo kid who's perpetually 17. Not only is it completely gross and depressing, it's statuatory rape.

OK. Deep breath. I can feel my blood pressure rising. I'm gonna go YouTube "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" because it's totes stuck in my head now.

da da da (da da da)
da da da (da da da)

Da Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Uh Da

No comments: