Happy Draw Mohammed Day!

It’s that time of year again! You guessed it, Happy Draw Mohammed Day! It’s a day to read bronze age books and thank the universe that we have freedom of speech and we will die fighting for it. Just like You religious nutcases will kill for your faith- regardless of what fucking spot of Jerusalem you get dibs on. So take a look at my contribution:scan Michelangelo it isn’t, but I think it’s a rather cute family portrait of Mo and his dozen wives. And yeah I know, some did die before he married others, but honestly, if you were a man of Mo’s power and influence would you honestly care if a lowly woman was alive and protesting? I think not. Next time I might draw one of Joe Smith and Mo going toe-to-toe. So come and kill me wackjobs. Allahu akbar!

And now, something to offend everyone:

What the fuck is wrong with women?

What the fuck is wrong with women?

Seriously. And I’m asking you this as a woman.

For the last three weeks I’ve been getting confirmation of being childfree from this one spayshul little fucktard that lives up the block from me. It’s fairly safe to say that any idiosyncrasies and dysfunctions we have stem from childhood, and this little blood sucker is a good example. Mom believes she knows who her mother is, a divorcee living with her grandparents, and evidently her ex dumped her and their two shitbags because he couldn’t stand her, nor her family (not that hubby is any better). I don’t know what the custodial arrangements are- and could give a shit- but the little cunt dropping is here on weekends and holidays from what I’ve seen of her. For the last three weeks (since the weather has gotten nicer) she’s been outside playing with the daughters of a family who lives next door (I only know them because their oldest daughter is a cripple), but I’ve never had a problem with them. Now she’s one of the middle daughters’ new BFF so they’re outside with their kindercrap screaming their heads off about nothing when this little bitch says to me as I pass:

“You wear too much lipstick!”

And she ducks inside her friend’s door.

In my day that was called disrespect, and we got our asses handed to us with a MAJOR verbal beat down for the rest of the day, and maybe a punishment on the side. Even the worst of the bastards who tortured me in my Catlick school were reprimanded by their parents if a comment was made towards an adult. Who was a stuck-up little snot who couldn’t even wipe their ass on their own to criticize an adult for their fashion choices? Nobody, that’s who! Which is why spankings are a good idea.

But today the little douche has a myriad of acronym brain diseases because of her parents divorce and is simply acting out. Which is why avoidance on the victim’s part is paramount, and mediation and negotiation are the parents’ duties should it be deemed that the situation be brought to their attention. This is the welfare of a child we’re talking about here…

YOU FUCKING PARENTS ARE PUSSIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Did I say that too loud for you? I’m sorry, you’re deaf now? Well that’s you’re fault for buying into Life Script with Mr./Ms. Good Enough But The Cracks In The Surface Just Get Deeper Daily. I can proudly say that the little pussy biscuit will grow up to be just like her prize-winning mamma, or like the insane bitches that Mom works with. What a good citizen like myself should do is grab her by the hair, slap her until she’s bleeding from every top half orifice, body slam her ass on mee-maw’s floor like Bin Laden’s corpse and demand an apology from her coven for leading meaningless existences that they can’t be bothered (too old and bizzy) to raise the walking twat clump right. Of course that reality exists between this monitor and the bedroom door. Outside of that door I would be arrested, slapped with a multi-million dollar lawsuit, and be featured on the 10 o’clock news on the Nox Noise Channel. Then a quarter of a billion people will be siding with the poor mawm and behbeh and my whole life will be played out on You Tube saying that I am nothing but an evil, fat, ugly, lazy, unemployed, jealous, and crazy loser who likes to kick newborn puppies and bite the heads off Peeps. But really you’re just so weak that you can’t take a little nine-year-old kid’s jokes… and that maybe you do wear too much makeup, you child-hating slut! 

Now we all know that after three weeks of childish taunting you would be harboring infanticide fantasies as well, but we can’t say what we feel anymore because we’re going to hurt someone’s perceived feelings. Please keep that word in mind. Perceived. Because the basis of our lives revolves upon the perception of what we think others believe about us. If I disciple mah chyuld, they’ll become a serial killer and Ah’ll get blamed! Or maybe they won’t be a millionaire brain surgeon and Ah’ll never live in a McMansion with country club membership! Ah’m a failure! Never mind what we believe about ourselves, that’s whole other delusion. And lately, I’ve been noticing that that goes doubly for women.

Dog knows that ageism, sexism, and lookism dominates everything from employment to sex, but it’s getting worse. In Mom’s office these ghetto diva bitches are so hung up on themselves that they walk around in Alzheimer’s-esque delusions. The thinner bitches Darlene, Cecelia, Lucille, and Hazel love to say just how sexy and desirable they are complimenting themselves every five minutes and flirting with everything that has a pair of hanging gonads. The truth is, no one could stand any of them, and people who know these bitches in purchasing ask how Mom- their longest standing temp of 4 years- how she could put up with them. The truth is, she can’t, but she needs a job, and at 56 the jobs don’t come easily regardless of the economy. Once Mom was walking with Cecelia and she met a friend, Ping, and for 20 minutes these two squwaking peacocks, after discovering that they shared the same birthdate, started in like 12-year-olds with the high fructose corn syrupy simpering “You’re pretty!” “No you’re pretty!” that had more back-and-forth than a ping-pong match in Harbin. Then you have one of the supervisors, Carmen, who honestly looks like the stereotypical butch lesbian (Mom said she dresses like a gym teacher). This dumbfuck always backpedals when she says she’ll never go out of her way (again) for someone who utterly disrespects her. Lucille is the hospital’s butt of jokes because she’s such a loudmouth, she tells everybody every detail of her fucked life. She’s nothing but a welfare queen with three anchor babies. This former Filipino bar girl had four loaves with three men- her eldest son during her days prostituting on a cruise ship (claimed the father was a Greek, but a picture she produced showed a Filipino guy, but no one can be sure with her because she’s a pathological liar), the next two with her ex-husband, and this latest one with her new Michigan backwoods white trash hubster she met online who is allergic to employment and comes from a litter of pill-headed alkeys (his moomy was so fucked up on pills that she slurred over the phone to Lucille that her 12-year-old daughter Ashley could come back to Michigan to suck her toe. For a year Lucille dumped her kids on hubster’s crazy clan so that they could go faux jet-setting and making a real white baby together, meanwhile the kids ate nothing, lived in a filthy house, and a semi-tarded 16-year-old nephew took “a liking” to Ashley). I don’t give a shit at how “nice” Lucille is, she’s a trashy user and abuser. Carmen went out of her way to get this ho her naturalization status, the job at purchasing, threw her baby showers, and when the bitch was done blowing her paycheck Carmen swooped in and made her friends in the cafeteria serve this whore and her kids full continental breakfasts, and then Carmen would cook for her. So what does this bitch do when Carmen called out Lucille and hubster web surfing at her workstation (where no one without an employee ID isn’t allowed)? She called her a dirty Puerto Rican.

Considering this bitch’s spotty record, I’m still amazed at how she didn’t get fired after that incident. No, I’m wrong. I’m amazed at how she wasn’t fired after she physically assaulted church lady Marcy some years ago. Church lady Marcy is Indian-Guyanese and has been so indoctrinated by her bassackwards culture and revivalist sect that she’s the family’s doormat (Mom could relate well). Her parents are practically invalids so despite having a career and doing all the housekeeping, much of their care has been dumped on Marcy. Her brothers are coddled drunks who do nothing, and all of her sisters have shuffled off to London, Minnesota, and Miami with their lives and families. But whenever they’re in town they’re forever calling Marcy at work to ask where the spices, pencils, or dustrags are. The upshot, they’re on the upper rungs of the totem pole in Guyana. They have so much money (from family businesses) that they need armed guards on the family’s plantation. According to the church lady, these bitches treated her like dirt and that the stress Mom has from these projects divas is nothing. And while that is true, church lady does NOTHING to defend herself. She always brought donuts and bagels from her cousin’s Dunkin’ Donuts shop, but all these asshats would complain that it was too much junk and they were get(ting) fat(ter). THEN when church lady would stop they complained why she wasn’t bringing any more food! The following drama took place when church lady was out sick; at her desk Mom overheard the other bitches making fun of church lady, pulling various parts of their flab anatomies demonstrating where the bagels ended up on her body. After the office Xmas party (potluck) there was some complaint over the food she brought- it wasn’t enough… GREEDY! GREEDY! GREEDY! Mom and another employee took church lady aside and told her not to bother with the bitches any more and quit making food for them (like they expect everyone in the office to do- but Mom hasn’t!) then told her about the bagel jokes. You’d think that would get her riled up at least. Nope, she stayed home the next day and sobbed like a 15-year-old under the blankets over missing Justin Bieber fuck Robert Pattinson on Ustream.

Now I’ll get to the real cruelty.

Their recently retired boss, Bill Goof, saved church lady’s ass from getting downsized. Apparently the insurance company that now wants to dump the hospital decided she was too expensive and wanted to hire a desperate college grad for less.

“Well if she’s got to go, she’s got to go!” Darlene bitched right in front of silent church lady. This is the one who’s money-laden baby daddy won’t marry her because of the tighter younger pussy he gets on the side.  The one applicant, a recent IT grad (young white dude), came in for an interview and Bill listed all of the menial tasks that would be required of him.

“I’m not doing that!” Bye-bye to the wannabe soap star.

“Why did you discourage him?!” Carmen screeched.

Bill knew that all of these old ghetto bitches (including Star the head supervisor) would be flirting with the poor guy and drive him to quit with their craziness. But moreover the office would be in chaos. These ghetto queens scream and fight over the pettiest shit, but when a man gets involved they become a wolf pack! Jealousy over imagined attention would wreak havoc and spill over into the work, and they would get nothing done if they’re too busy batting their eyes and shaking their saggy asses in front of someone who could be their kid.

When it comes down to it, they’re all insecure pathetic losers who’ll settle for the worst. Lucille is finally leaving the job to relocate to Texas to hopefully get hubster- who left her– out of Michigan to make a fresh start with their baybee that he doesn’t give a shit about. Cecelia is fucking some womanizer, Orlando, that’s engaged because she’s lonely and angry at herself for never being satisfied with herself or anybody else. I mean church lady and Carmen suffer from the 1st grade-itis (if I do everything for the pretty girls they’ll be my friends and I’ll be pretty too), but is this what I have to look forward to? Is this what middle-aged women do when they can’t bear aging?

Meanwhile on the whiter side of things…

The Ass Food that’s across the street has been the feed bag for our local hook and ladder since time immemorial, and as a kid my teachers always told us to wave to the firefighters in appreciation for their sacrifice. And as corny as that sounds, I waved, and they waved back. But in the store Mom was firm, You don’t bother the other shoppers. (THE RAYS!) And her word was law. But that didn’t stop the clucking hens from circling them at the registers. Now obviously I was raised not to criticize the grown ups, so I watched at how these bitches made idiots of themselves bombarding them with the dumbest questions! That hasn’t changed, but since 9/11 the age demographic has widened. I try to run as fast as I can with my old lady cart from the giggling and brown nosing, I wonder if all the teen and twenty-something fangirls are hot on firefighters because of the Chippendale-wannabe calendars they’ve released?

I don’t know. I’ve been working on this rant for nearly four hours, and I am nowhere near deciphering as to what’s fucking up women. Maybe I’m the exception to this odd rule. Okay, I went to a crap high school in a basement where I interacted with characters from the rejects zoo, and that was hardly the John Waters ideal that I had in mind when I was eight. I’m not really romantic, and outside of Microsoft Word I’m not very creative. And maybe I am a pessimist, but I prefer to define (not label) myself as a realist (read or listen to George Carlin’s Brain Droppings for a detailed explanation). I knew that I was CF pretty early on (I referred to my Cabbage Patch doll as my sister, not my daughter), and marriage doesn’t seem like a bowl of peaches and cream either (dysfunctional parents that had influence, I know). But let’s face it, when I lose my remaining 59 pounds (UPDATE: LOST 33 LBS. AS OF 7/6/11! 143 STILL IS THE GOAL!) that won’t guarantee me a ring, and should I get one I’m the type of bitch that if you were one of the morons I went to high school with met me on the street and saw it, your initial reaction would be, “YOU’RE MARRIED?! He must be as bad as you!”

I remember as a kid I begged my dad for ballet lessons. A lot of my non-friends at Catlick school went to the dance school just two blocks from here. It was $75 for the year. Mom always got this panicked look when I pleaded with her, and would try to deter me with “go ask your dad.” And I did. And I stood there whining for dog knows how long as he just sat at the table paying bills and balancing the checkbook, not once acknowledging me. I mean what’s the damn deal motherfucker? You tell me that fat girls aren’t loved (and that’s true) don’t you think a little activity would help with that? Was $75 bucks so hard to part with, you miserly assface? I took the long way to get some Chinese food avoiding that little bitch and I noticed that the weekend class was letting out at the dance school. Not much had changed, well the sign and the fact that the picture windows are shuttered since breeders believe that pedophiles are on every corner. The school advertizes with blown up recital photos, girls of varying ages and ability. A pink chain of five-year-olds in tulle and ribbons stiffly take their bow, a troupe of 10 to 12-year-olds pose in disco sequins with glitter in their hair and on their faces. Sugary smiles and Olga Korbut splits looking like so much North Korean propaganda. I wasn’t so lucky, but are they lucky? Out from the rear exit emerge two fat teen girls, both are in leggings. Their faces are sheened in sweat and are giddy. No cares in the world and they seem to be all buddy-buddy. Maybe weight loss partners, maybe not. But they all seem lucky, one by one skipping down the cracked concrete in the spun gold sunlight of late spring afternoon chasing after diamond fireflies. And it hits me just now. There’s really nothing fucked up with women. And yet everything. It gets really hot under stage lights, and you have to hit your cues on time, and if you screw up the whole cast looks bad, but… that fairy glamour makes it all worthwhile. Fifteen seconds, that’s all you ask for to look special, pretty even. And that’s what they’re doing. Chasing the fairy glamour.

Lights dim.

Curtain closes.

Matinee at 2pm.

I get up from my seat and walk up the aisle. I’m the real lucky one. I get to leave the theater every time.

Girls of Riyadh

I hate summer colds, but I do get them once in a while. Like an ass I kept my windows open when the temp dropped to 76 degrees one morning (and yes it shot up to the triple digits well before noon) after it rained, bringing in a cold breeze. I also had my fan blasting atop me, so when I began getting a dryness in my throat two days later (making it worse I was trying to clean the fan from the inches of dust and soot that blew in my face ’cause I forgot to unplug the fucking thing) I knew it was time to restock on the Theraflu.

I discovered Rajaa Alsanea’s Girls of Riyadh while searching for Nedjima’s, The Almond. In this post-9/11 Islamophobic world, I know that libs and lefties are running to embrace these “oppressed” women of a country that is guilty of countless human rights abuses. But here’s the rub: Miss Rajaa is a member of the well-heeled “velvet class” she describes in her fiction that was based off the women in her elite world whose lifestyle is kept behind high gilt marble walls surrounded by armed guards and the Saudi Religious Police. So Rajaa’s view of things aren’t necessarily skewed, just somewhat myopic.

The unnamed narrator (sitting in her easy chair wearing red lipstick) posts on a Saudi Yahoo! group the tales of four university-aged friends Gamrah, Lamees, Michelle (or Mashael since her mom is American), and Sadeem and their romantic pratfalls- as romance can happen within the boundaries of fundamentalist Islam. I suggest dear reader, that you read the introduction, because while Rajaa might live in Chi-town and wear a hijab (at least in the photos I’ve seen of her), Saudis are definitely schizo regardless of how rich they are. There is a clear double-standard of women and men. Gamrah’s husband divorced her after she confronted his long-time Japanese girlfriend leaving both her and their son to linger in the kingdom. His family could honestly care less about Gamrah because she did her duty and produced a boy (named after the paternal grandfather). Michelle whose mother is American and the most “westernized” of the four suffered through two bittersweet romances: the first with a man named Faisal whose mother wouldn’t consent to the marriage because her father’s tribe was unknown, and for the fact she was half white. And the other was dubious with her American cousin (YEESH!) Matti while living in San Francisco (apparently Saudis still marry their cousins in the 21st century). Now her father can do whatever he wants and he won’t even permit his daughter to even attend journalistic events that she was invited to during her internship in Dubai when her family forced her away from Matti. Her mother supported this because even though she’s Muslim in name only, the greedy lazy bitch just doesn’t want to hear her husband yell and scream. The silly Sadeem who was nearly made the second wife through Firas, a control freak, ended up marrying her cousin Tariq because she wanted a “safe man” after having her life blotted out by man who did every scam in the book to string her along- even after his wife gave birth to their first child! And finally Lamees, a medical student, found her match in her classmate Nizar who became a prudent Muslim wife by wearing her hijab before men that aren’t her family paying her dues to Allah for giving her a husband and daughter. They moved to Canada to get their doctorates, but I have no doubt they’ll send their daughter to SA for a “proper upbringing”.

Sex in the Saudi City it ain’t.

So if you’re looking to understand what it’s like to live in a country that lives by the strictest moral codes (men and women have separate banks, for example) combined with tribalism (if you aren’t from the right clan your life goes nowhere and you can’t marry just anybody) and discrimination (Saudi Sunnis call Saudi Shia rejectionists because they believe that the caliphate should belong to Muhammad’s cousin and son-in-law, Ali ibn Abi Talib and his offspring), then some of the facade will dissolve around the House of Saud. And then we wonder why people fancy blowing themselves up. It doesn’t mean (as Westerners) we will grasp their high ideals, and frankly, fucking insane protocol. But after reading this, as a woman I was especially appreciative of being allowed to walk outside alone, and uncovered. Saudi women aren’t even allowed to drive. And no, I don’t consider that drop-dead gorgeous, fair-skinned Saudi princess the first woman to drive in the kingdom reform.

Smeyer and Smusic…

Okay I was determined to do a bit of research on Meyer and her musical tastes, and I discovered a Rolling Stone article after Twifuck first hit theaters. Apparently she told a half-lie, claiming to have discovered metal and rock in BYU since her parents are insane (yes the apple doesn’t fall far from the LDS tree) and only allowed her to listen to “soft rock”, because anything loud, fun, easy to dance to, and otherwise stimulating wouldn’t be Christian or Joseph Smith-like.

This is what an undeveloped brain looks like.

And having 33 wives and using a rock under your hat to detect money underground, is Christian? I’ll put up the link to Dawn of the Undead on account that I’m not Erica Futterman, but it needs to be read to be believed. Oh yes, and Smeyer made a playlist for Twifuck before writing it. And it’s incorrect that she took 2 months to write it. She took three.

Dawn of the Undead

Why Stephenie Meyer gave her vampire book (and soon-to-be film) series a rock & roll soundtrack of Muse, Linkin Park, Blue October and more.

It’s a humid August afternoon outside the Nokia Theater in the middle of New York’s Times Square, and a hundred girls have already been in line for up to 16 hours. They’re holding posters, screaming and wearing T-shirts identifying themselves as members of Team Edward or Team Jacob. Most passersby assume Edward and Jacob are part of a band, with one confused father asking his teenage son, “Is Jacob a Jonas brother?”

Edward and Jacob aren’t real, though. They’re the creation of author Stephenie Meyer, and they live inside the world of her Twilight series, where Edward is a vampire and Jacob is a werewolf and they’re battling for the love of a human girl named Bella.

Tonight, 2,000 rabid fans showed up to see Meyer debut her Breaking Dawn Concert Series, four events scheduled around the release of the fourth and (for now) final installment of the Twilight saga. More than just a typical stop on a book tour, the concerts are a chance for Meyer to explain her stories through the music that’s inspired her writing.

“One of my problems with going on tour generally is that you get all these kids screaming for a rock concert, and then they get me,” Meyer, 34, says in a New York hotel room the day before the tour begins. “When [my publicist suggested] we do a rock concert, I was like, ‘Yes! That is what needs to happen!’ ” They reached out to some of Meyer’s favorite acts, including power-pop treadmill dancers OK Go, electro-pop band Shiny Toy Guns and rockers Blue October, ultimately constructing a show that’s part performance by Blue October’s lead singer, Justin Furstenfeld, part Q&A with Meyer and part Behind the Music, where Meyer discusses the impact Furstenfeld’s songs had on her books. It was unconventional, unintentional and a huge success — much like Meyer’s career thus far.

Meyer’s ascent to literary stardom began just over five years ago, on June 2nd, 2003. That was the morning Meyer — who dabbled in painting, majored in English at Brigham Young University and considered becoming a lawyer — woke up from a vivid dream about a male vampire and a female human in a meadow, talking about how they were falling in love even though the vampire thirsted for the human’s blood. “It was so singular,” Meyer recalls. “I really don’t think you get a dream like that more than once in your lifetime. And I didn’t need it; once I had the story and it unlocked the writer inside me, I had enough ideas on my own.” [Emphases mine]

The book became an all-consuming task for Meyer, a then-29-year-old married mother of three young boys living in Arizona. Meyer says she was “obsessive all the time,” hiding her writing from her family while she ferried her kids to swimming lessons and refilled juice cups. “I’d hear the characters say things that I’d want to write down, so I was scribbling on the corners of envelopes and napkins, anything I could get my hands on so I wouldn’t forget.” After three months, the tale was complete.

SPARKLEWORLD!

On the recommendation of her older sister Emily, Meyer landed an agent and signed with Little, Brown and Company, publisher of the mega successful Gossip Girl series, all before New Year’s Day 2004. “My life twisted around into ‘I have an agent,’ ‘I have a book deal,’ ‘I have a career’ and ‘Wow, I’m going to be a writer, how odd is that?’ ” Meyer remembers, laughing.

Twilight hit shelves on October 5th, 2005, and New Moon, the darkest chapter of Meyer’s vampire love story, arrived 10 months later and spent more than 30 weeks atop the New York Timesbestseller list, but nothing could prepare her for 2007. “Last year was like 10 years’ worth of stuff crammed into one,” she says. Meyer put the finishing touches on Eclipse, the third volume in Twilight, and penned both Breaking Dawn and The Host, her first adult novel. She embarked on another book tour to promote Eclipse’s release and saw her audience multiplying. But she still didn’t want Little, Brown to put out Eclipse on August 7th, just two weeks after the final Harry Potter book hit stores. “It was the summer of Harry Potter. I thought I’d get steamrolled,” Meyer confesses. But Eclipse’s first-day sales of 150,000 copies bested Potter, and the media appointed Meyer the next J.K. Rowling, a title she’s still uncomfortable with. “I forget all the time I’m supposed to be some kind of minor celebrity because that’s not who I am,” she says. “I’m a very normal, quiet person, and then I had to say, ‘OK, I really am a writer now. I’m not just playing at this.’

“The sad part was, I’d be writing and it would be one o’clock in the morning, and then it would hit me: Edward’s not real. But for the last six hours, he was,” she says. “And then he would not be real again. Oh, it was heart-breaking.” While she was writing, Meyer also began hearing songs to match her characters’ personalities and created chapter-by-chapter soundtracks for each book on her Website. “I listen to music always when I write,” she says. “When I hear music on the radio, I’m like ‘Oh! That’s a song for this character’ or ‘This one would so fit that character in this mood!’ ”

Though her current tastes lean towards alternative and progressive metal, Meyer cites strict parents as why she didn’t listen to much music during her Mormon upbringing (“They wanted to listen to everything before we listened to it, so basically we wound up listening to Lionel Richie and Chicago”), and says college was a crash-course in music ed. Interpol, My Chemical Romance, Vampire Weekend and Stars are among her current favorites.

Meyer’s Twilight saga playlists are culled from a combination of what she was listening to as she wrote and songs that spoke to her from a particular character’s perspective. The soundtracks are so indicative of the plots that Meyer waits to post the song titles until after each book is released, for fear the song choices offer spoilers. Frequent appearances are made by Linkin Park, and Meyer’s favorite band, U.K. prog-rock trio Muse, who she discovered while listening to Sirius radio in her car one day while working on New Moon.

‘Time is Running Out’ came on and I was just like, ‘Wow, what is this?’ ” Meyer recalls. “And I turned it up and made everyone in the car shut up. I Googled them immediately and listened to ‘Hysteria’ and I was like, ‘Where has this been all my life? How have I lived without this?’ “ She dedicated Breaking Dawn partially to the band, “for providing a saga’s worth of inspiration” and jokes, “I’m probably the only mom driving a minivan with a Muse sticker on the back.”

Meyer discovered Blue October in a similar way: she heard the bitter farewell of their single “Hate Me” while in the car and “it was like Edward was singing out of my radio.” When Justin Furstenfeld, Blue October’s lead singer-songwriter first heard about the Breaking Dawn series, “the way they explained it to me was that she’s got the pull of Harry Potter, but with more of a dark atmosphere,” he says.”It totally made sense to me. My songs are romantically dark, and her books are romantically dark.” Meyer flew to Austin a month ago, where Furstenfeld was at work on Blue October’s next album, to hear the band’s new music and go over the songs that inspired her writing, including “Hate Me.” Though Furstenfeld had heard Meyer’s name, he’d yet to read her books and dove in immediately. “To me, it’s this whole new world I’m opening up to,” he says in his dressing room before their debut New York show.

“You can see from the line around the building that these kids have been involved in this world for quite a while, and they’re pretty obsessed with it. It’s like there’s a show to see Jesus and I’m just the disciple,” he jokes. He isn’t far off: When Furstenfeld opens the show later that night, the screams are ear-splitting and the crowd is silent when he plays — but it’s sheer chaos when Meyer walks onstage to answer questions. Cheers interrupt every answer, whether she’s talking about what pushed her to get Twilight published or whether she shared Bella’s wishes of wanting to become a vampire. Meyer jokes all she has to do is say her characters’ names to get a response. “Edward!” she tries. The noise is deafening.

After the Q&A, Meyer brings Furstenfeld back onstage. She talks about the first time she heard “Hate Me,” and sits on a couch next to him, silently mouthing the words as he plays. “It’s an honor,” Furstenfeld tells Meyer. “It’s really weird,” she responds. “To have amazing musicians want to come and do this with me is crazy!”

Jodi Reamer has LOTS to answer to

The Music Behind Twilight
Meyer explains how she picked each book’s playlist

Twilight (2005)
Linkin Park was really kind of the undercurrent of that novel for me. I had Hybrid Theory and Meteora on a mix, and I just listened to them over and over again. They have a great rhythm for writing; aside from the tone of the song, the beat keeps you moving fast.”

New Moon (2006)
New Moon was when I discovered Marjorie Fair, this little band that just writes soul-crushing, heart-breaking music very prettily. I was listening to that and I could hear Bella in her depression; it was so perfect. This was also when I discovered Muse, and they just fit every moment. During ‘To the End of the World,’ I can hear Bella pushing through the underbrush looking for [Edward after he leaves her].”

Eclipse (2007)
“The most solid example of songs on the playlists being the ones that shaped the book was when I was working on
Eclipse. I was in the car with my sister listening to ‘Hysteria’ by Muse — we were out of town and I had my Absolution CD because I don’t travel without it. We were listening to ‘Hysteria’ and the kiss scene between Bella and Jacob choreographed itself in my mind, down to the number of steps. I can hear him in the beat as he’s walking towards her. The scene is not everybody’s favorite, but I certainly enjoy it.”

Breaking Dawn (2008)
“When I went to Austin to meet Justin Furstenfeld and talk about the
Breaking Dawn concert series he played a bunch of songs that aren’t out yet. There’s a song that he played called ‘My Never,’ that I can tell you the page in Breaking Dawn where I should have have heard it to write. I went home and re-did the playlist after that.”

Oh the wrath of the Twitard… can you see me laughing?

Well a few minutes ago I really wasted my time putting a Twifucktard by the name of Songsmirth (who I blocked) in her place. I don’t check my You Tube inbox for messages (but admit I was bored) and I got a couple, one from her and another Twifucktard. I don’t remember the screen name of the other (and she’s not important anyhow) because she just responded to a comment I made on an anti-Twifuck video stating she hated me. *SHRUGS* BUT I just couldn’t help it with Songsmirth.

This dumb bitch said she felt sorry for me being an angry person who likes to troll Twifuck videos and bash them. In her response to my comment she lashes out at me for my sarcastic attitude, and tries to dump all over me screaming at me demanding to know what great thing I accomplished so I could compete with Smeyer. If Songsmirth came to this blog (it’s listed on YT) I pretty much lay out the LITTLE I have accomplished, make fun of myself, my friends, my world, bitch, yell, scream, and critique (to my little black heart’s content) the idiocy of today’s pop culture (Lady Goo-Goo-Gaga is number two on my hit list BTW).

If you (Songsmirth and other Twifucktards who troll) are going to have an apoplectic fit over my sarcasm, I really don’t give a shit. I’ve been this way for 20 years (LITERALLY) and when my mom tried to rein me in, I told her I didn’t give a shit. The only reason why she backed off was because she knew she was making bad choices (regarding dad and not listening to us). And if you can’t tell I’m being sarcastic from the little page description up in the corner, then I don’t know what your problem is. I know these weapons are typical in the Twifucktard’s arsenal, but these obsessive-compulsive fanidiots can be disturbing… and they do get personal. The best defense is logic, and I have gotten loud with logic with regards to the Twifucktard on DA who tried to suggest that we antis are actually fans.

Now here’s another little (embarrassing) fact about yours truly: MTV’s Daria ran from ’97 to ’02. I didn’t get cable until the fall of ’02, but I didn’t see Daria until the VHS releases in 2000. This didn’t stop my friends in high school from nicknaming me “Daria” and I had no fucking clue (at the time) what they were talking about. I am a natural brunette who likes to wear her hair long and loose, I wear glasses (and at the time had these round black glasses), my GPA was 3.8 to 4.0 (told you I was a geek- but managed to get C’s in math and dropped physics altogether), and I was anywhere from sardonic to irreverent at any point of the day. I really was Daria without Tracy Grandstaff in the room.

Oh yeah before I close out, Tprinces is having a bit of a problem. It seems that this Twifucktard CONJOPI (or James Triston) flagged her review video “Twilight = Epic Fail” and YT took it down. He bragged openly saying he had it removed because he thought she was “unfunny and unoriginal”, and within her rights Tprinces raised hell. Unfortunately she can’t find the file to put it back up, so if anybody DLed it send a copy to her please. I consider it one of the best anti-Twifuck reviews, and it got a fuckload of hits. And check out the latest from WriterfromNowhere, apparently Smeyer has well and truly gone off the deep end… as if it couldn’t get any worse.

And one more thing, I wouldn’t compete with Smeyer if you paid off my family’s debt, gave me a million bucks with a title to a house on HK’s Peak, a full ride to HK University, and a job waiting for me at the New York Times Asia desk. I just enjoy breaking on her with my fellow antis, Twifucktards need not loiter here.

And don’t forget:

Yes I always wanted a man who wanted to keep me from my friends and family

Save me from my paper cut Eddiekins!

Even if he didn't smell, or do the damn sequels I'd still like to see him dead

The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner

"I like myself so much better now!" (Runs off to spend her millions)

Throw another city on the barbie Buddha, it went into the triple digits out here in the Big Apple. And as I write this review on the latest Smeyer crackcaine-fest, it’s in the upper 80s. Bad idea when you have to sit through 153 pages on a PC screen. On the upshot I read it quite fast considering the pirated .pdf I have is rather crappy and am forced to read it at 243% zoom as if I were Brenda Kerrigan.

Well I was really (not) impressed by the latest installment of the Twifuck saga- but I will say this, Smeyer’s editor Rebecca Davis probably threatened her with a lawsuit should she not be allowed to do her job because the first thing I noticed was the reduction of thesaurus assrape. This is not to say Smeyer doesn’t stick in unnecessary adjectives here and there (to look educated) AND some actual research took place! After a feeding frenzy where Bree’s coven wiped out an entire boatload of passengers coming down from BC on the Washington State Ferry, she correctly used metaphors when she called the coven barracudas because they are native to Puget Sound (I did some fact checking, something publishing companies believe gets in the way of their bottom line).

'Cause this is what Smeyer and the Twifucktards THINK they look like... and the bitch can't act worth a goddamn

Now shmeiliarockie did a wonderful review of this and I encourage you to go watch it, as well as her final installments of YAB. I could understand why she could give it a good rating, the pacing was faster and Smeyer didn’t waste time glossing over how beautiful characters were. Then again, this is lookist Smeyer we have here. Beauty is equated with good, and evil is on par with ugly. Regardless of what she claimed in the intro, we don’t really know how Bree looks like with the exception that she was a Mormonpire for 3 months, was 15-16 when she was turned, and that she had red eyes. Smeyer ultimately doesn’t really care about this character, she only pulled this turd out of her ass to make some more quick cash, to niggle the screenwriters, and to shut her critics and unsatisfied fans up because her brother that filters her fanmail has probably been bitching at her.

Smeyer’s first major mistake (aside from first sitting down to write) was the title. Back when public schools were slightly less shit I was instructed by my ninth grade English teacher, Ms. Warner, that lengthy titles were completely unnecessary. Two to four worded titles were preferred, using your creative juices to spit out a catchy and unusual title with the fewest words possible does tell a prospective agent a lot about the writer. Case in point, Kowloon Tong by Paul Theroux, one of my favorite novels about my most favorite place in the world. I mean, hasn’t Smeyer figured that out by now? She used it when she hawked her first set of crap! Oh wait… she’s a BYU alum, where she spent the majority of her time candlepassing and making fun of people without brand name clothes. Bree was uninteresting, but only less so than Bella. None of these characters were annoying (per se) but you felt no pathos, just a lot of frustration, teen angst and rebelliousness that Smeyer was channeling from her days as a young Mormon in the real world. Bree is attempting to confront her past and has lots of questions about who/what she is and is generally dissatisfied with the prepared answers she gets from a leader she once trusted. Utah has the highest percentage of anti-depressant use and Mormons have admitted that they are experts at avoiding their problems because one of their core tenets is perfection. An outward constant show of happiness is reaffirmation of their beliefs. If a TBM is expressing unhappiness, then the problem lies with shaken faith therefore results in shaky social relations within the cult.

This book should have been called Blood Before Meat, and it’s set between Relapse and Breaking Brains (I think). Now our leading Mormonpire Bree was a would-be-16-year-old battered runaway living on the streets hooking for food (they usually go for cash but Smeyer probably set Bree up on the lower rung of prostitute-dom because she’s so ugly) until she encounters beautiful, blond Riley (“Hey kid, want a cheeseburger?”) stake president of Bree’s undead marble people ward who then takes her to Victoria (Her) to be turned.

So Bree, swarthy Diego, Freaky Fred, and others are horsing around the darkened alleyways of downtown Seattle for some type O and after getting their fill of victims without families who therefore aren’t important won’t be missed (dregs) and causing some destruction Bree and Diego do a little shopping at the local closed mall (CDs and a dozen books) and Target (Hefty bags, Ziplocs, and backpacks). Now here’s what drives me nuts. Of course Bree being a female angsts over herself as the boys are infuriatingly overconfident. Then she does a typical Smeyer 180 and only starts feeling like a god when Diego says how smart she is and that Riley appreciates her for her brains as well. Well Bree and Diego are very young vampires, in fact Bree is only three months old and Diego a year, and according to Smeyer logic younger Mormonpires are stronger while older ones are weak. I’m sorry, but in almost all of the vampire novels I’ve read the lore was that the older you got, the stronger you were.

So Bree and Diego head back to the scene of the crime where a pile of bodies and wrecked cars lie in the middle of an intersection and proceed to cover their tracks. Now let me ask you something, why would a criminal carry a Zippo in a plastic bag? Well because it was stolen and is being handled to ensure that the former owner’s fingerprints stay on it so that when it’s being used by the (usually) gloved criminal, the evidence will point to the owner. But Diego isn’t wearing gloves and with Smeyer’s wonderful continuity the lighter becomes a match. Did you know that Mormonpire venom is also flammable?

So they try to beat the sunrise and race to the ward’s hideout deep in the Washington sticks where they occupy the basements of cabins that they know are owned by dead people. Apparently the ward of abused runaways they’re in are so insane they regularly burn down their hideouts (but no real fights are seen, just posturing), and this one was no exception. So Bree and Diego hide in some tunnels on the beach and as they form a secret ninja club becoming BFFs/eternal mates they start analyzing their stake president and get the feeling that he’s keeping some major info on the DL from everybody.

They believe in the “myth” that Riley drills into them that they’ll burn up in the sun and that they could be staked by humans until Diego tests this theory and finds out that they’re just a pair of walking disco balls (Smeyer actually wrote that). So they follow Riley to a quaint gingerbread cottage where they discover that he’s been knocking boots with Victoria and overhear their conversation/makeout session via Spider hearing that her big plans are set in motion. All of a sudden Bree and Diego spot the General Authority from The Vatican arriving in their hooded robes walking in a perfect diamond formation to confront Victoria. They speak in tongues warning her to set her invasion of The Cullens within five days or they’re KFC, Victoria gets pissy, Diego stays behind to talk to Riley ordering Bree to go back to the cabin just in time to see the stake prez return and pull a temper tantrum that pwns Edward’s because he included some amputations after seeing a smoking pile of Mormonpire remains (no explanation).

Eat this you sparkly nutsuckers!

Riley launches into an abusive tirade calling everybody a bunch of stupid assholes, and that they’ve got to get serious and start training to kill The Cullens who are devious weaker, older yellow-eyed Mormonpires. He promises them upon success of eradication of the enemy that they will get to rule the planet Seattle and a “dessert” upon the kill of Edward- we finally find out what happened to Bella’s red sweater. Bree is grouped with Freaky Fred (another gorgeous tall blond) where they make a little connection over rummy and train for a few days. Riley pulls Bree aside gives her a little cryptic message from Diego who says he will meet up with her after the battle, tells her not to give up on him, and reminds her that she’s one of his smart ones.

They set off to fight The Cullens, but Freaky Fred doesn’t feel the good vibrations and humps it to Vancouver when Riley told Bree that Diego has already made it to the staging area and he retreats. Bree can’t smell Diego anywhere figuring out that he was killed by Riley and Vicki and surrenders herself to Edward fighting off the urge to kill Bella. The GA arrive to interrogate Bree who tells them the whole of Riley’s lies and just before they make mincemeat out of her she telepathically tells Edward that the GA instructed them to attack under the penalty of excommunication.

The End.

Do ya think us gentiles are THAT stupid?!!

Need more proof?

THE DEVIN’S ADVOCATE: WHY BREAKING DAWN MUST BE MADE INTO A MOVIE

Childfree-dom and Smeyer

First off welcome back Shmeliarockie! I hope life finds you well, and your fans, fellow anti-Twilighters, and subscribers couldn’t wait for your latest YAB installment.

Now in response to her commentary about Smeyer’s Sue-baby- “the most unique baby in the world” according to Molly Mormon- isn’t just a reflection of Mormon culture (contemporary or historical) but of childbearing and parenthood in general until the rise of feminism and counter-culturalism in the 1960s.

Now if you recall Tprinces’ New Moan rant, Bella-Smeyer liked 50s music (examples Bill Haley and the Comets, Elvis, Patsy Cline, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and Peggy Lee are icons of the 50s musical era). Then in Smeyer’s brilliant plot continuity she does a 180 and Bella-Smeyer claims not to like music at all with Eddiekins stating how crap music of the 60s and 70s were. Now disco was simply awful, but don’t even go there with The Beatles, The Stones, The Who, The Ramones, etc.  Attitudes that reject anything that flies in the face of Christian, all-American wholesomeness isn’t just something prevalent in Mormonism, but a typical right-wing, narrow minded response during the 60s. I would also like to note Mormons do particularly enjoy classical music and classical literature because it provides them with a mask of intellectualism when they actually abhor intellectuals (ie. fear of debunking the cult). Mormonism began in the 19th Century so their ideals and world view aren’t really stuck in the 50s- that’s generous- it is true 19th Century thinking, which is why Smeyer had her characters originate in the 19th Century or turn of the century. It ultimately provides Mormons comfort in an uncomfortable progressive world. If there’s an “interfaith” marriage the non-Mormon partner might be traditional and doesn’t mind taking up gender roles. If it’s a male he wants total control in household and if it’s a female she likes being dominated. Conversely the Mormon partner may not be religious, inactive, or doesn’t have a relationship with their Mormon family and preferred to marry outside the cult.

Onto the Sue-baby. No one could really imagine themselves as parents until reality shoots you in the face the first few minutes in the delivery room. Bella-Smeyer wasn’t too keen on having kids, I’d say pretty normal teen behavior. But being that she’s supposed to be the model of Mormon femininity (and a teen bride to boot) this is wrong. In fact, all good Christian girls should be melting into a puddle of pink sugary goo at the sight of babies. If you go to the childfree links I provide on the side for you, the message boards include personal stories of when we decided that brats weren’t in the plan. I was surprised to discover that there were others (like me) who knew as kids themselves didn’t want kids. When child bride Bella-Smeyer gets knocked up in Breaking Fail Eddiekins becomes the devil incarnate (according to Mormons the brother of Jesus Christ- I’m not joking) and presses her to get an abortion. Suddenly Bella-Smeyer gets protective of her mutant zygote that she immediately refers to as a male because in all religious societies males are the sex of preference. Bella-Smeyer also fantasized of an older brother to protect and spoil her rather than a younger brother she would have to help care/sacrifice for. Throughout Africa, Asia, India, and in the Middle East males are preferred because they continue the father’s clan/name, have higher earning power, are first (and more deserving) to be educated, and are first fed at the meal table (in North Korea during food shortage/famine rice was given to the males and the less nutritious corn was given to females). Females are just the breeder pigs, it makes no sense to educate them because they only have to cook, clean, fuck, and birth on command, women get sick more often because they have more stress and aren’t fed properly. In India abortion is looked down upon but is legal because if a woman isn’t pregnant with a male she could abort the female fetus. Traditionally girls have a marriage dowry, and the coming of age party for girls is very elaborate and expensive. Because of these things there are orphanages that consist solely of girls should the baby be kept to term and the first to be abandoned if the family is destitute. In China today the ratio between men and women is so disproportionate that Chinese gangs routinely kidnap young women and teen girls to sell as brides to mostly middle class patrons. And with their one child law (1.2 billion birthed) cultural mores and ignorance still demand the need for males.

Now in real life Smeyer has three boys, having three kids is way too many in this modern world but in the Mormon world it’s way too few. Also I’m sure she feels outnumbered by the males in her mansion and has secretly yearned to spoil, primp and have girl time with her perfect, cute little daughter. Bella gets Smeyer’s wish, the Sue-baby Renesmee. She is perfect, doesn’t have to be fed or cleaned (because blond beautiful, raped whore Rosalie will do it), you love her immediately (can do no wrong thusly not trouble her parents whilst having non-stop sex and will be worshiped), will educate herself at a collegiate level by age seven (no social interaction needed and is already at the top of her class because all normal people are losers), and has a gorgeous husband waiting for her (Jacob, Bella-Smeyer’s devilish dark-skinned second lust-object that will protect Renesmee’s virtue until she demands that he fuck her sadistically on their wedding night). Well looks like Bella-Smeyer has completed her requirements of “vampire” goddesshood in the Celestial Kingdom of Forks with her eternal family. Did I also mention that she has the most deadly superpower she will never have to use because Eddiekins and the Cullens will sweep in to protect their precious queen?

Understand back in the day when a teen girl or young unmarried woman got knocked up, abortion wasn’t an option- unless you were fantastically rich or of some importance (Judy Garland’s mother forced her daughter to have an abortion when she was impregnated by her first husband). If the family was of some means they made arrangements for their daughter to go away and visit relatives- at least that was the cover story. The girl would board with a religious or secular group that secretly worked with obstetricians that delivered illegitimate children who would then be taken by adoption agencies to be given to childless couples or couples who couldn’t have any more children. If the girl demanded an abortion the (at one time male dominated profession) obstetrician would let his religiosity or chauvinism overtake his professionalism and tell the girl that with the fullness of time she will grow to love her baby.

Yeah. And postpartum depression doesn’t exist.

Obviously Bella-Smeyer has been brainwashed by her love-hypnotizing mutant, or does Smeyer have another agenda? I’m sure whenever her three sprogs break something incredibly expensive she tells herself how much she loves her kids and truly wanted them in her life.