I Am Motherfucking Sick of All These Motherfucking “Twilight” Clones in the Motherfucking Bookstore
Full disclosure: I am over thirty and have read all of the Twilight books. And have seen all three movies, all on opening night. You might even say that I’m a Twihard.
Do I like the Twilight franchise? Sort of. I mean, I like them despite the quality of the writing, the plotting, the troublesome messages it sends to young women about creepy assholes, nonconsensual kissing, a man as guardian of a horny teenager’s virginity, and, oh, a guy oiling your window so it won’t squeak when he creeps in to watch you sleep at night. I mean, I like the books about as much as I can like a book involving a crazy half-vampire fetus that has to be chewed out of her mother’s uterus by the vampire babydaddy’s sharp vampire teeth (because in the vampire world of rock-paper-scissors, only vampire teeth cuts vampire amniotic sac and NO I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP).