Oh the social norm. Giggiling girls flaunting sparkly lipgloss and smeared eyelids. And, most of all, that bloody book, Twilight.
I’m a teenage girl. At least, I’m supposed to be one. My hormones, which have been sleeping since the day I appeared in my mother’s stomach, are still in coma. So when girls are smearing on mascara and eyeliner, while fluttering eyelashes at hairy baboons who care about nothing but some stupid sport, I’m looking on in curiosity, wondering what could drive the members of my gender to such idiocy.
This could get me killed, you know.
But as I’m braving massive hordes of females whose brains have been reduced to Taylor Swift songs and Justin Bieber, one of my friends came up to me with a sinful smirk.
I know, I’m so poetic.
Anyways, my friend bribed me. To read Twilight. For thirty bucks.
In case you’re wondering, I’ve never read Twilight. I never watched the movie. The only names I’m familiar with is Edward Cullen, and someone named Bella. I also know that weird werewolf guy due to the numerous New Moon commercials.
Yeah. Sue me.
So since I am not at all familiar with that dreadful book, and have no interest in becoming aquainted to it, my friend offered a deal, as you already know.
And these are my thoughts on the first five chapters:
You’ve got to be kidding me. How the hell does this sell?
So basically, you’ve got some whining, ungrateful brat who WILLINGLY comes to a foggy town, and whines about the weather, the kindness of everyone, and how she wants to go back home. Oh, sure, she doesn’t, because she says, “My mother’s happiness is more important than I am, but also because i am sooooo selfless.”
She promptly tells one of her admirers, Mike, to go to hell. She whines some more, before, “OOH!! PRETTY PEOPLE!!!”
And Edward acts like a dickhead. Then he acts all polite. Then he saves her life and acts like a dickhead again. Then he tells Bella, “We can’t be friends. But I want to. Let’s be friends. But you’ll regret it. Should we be friends?”
Seriously, if I were Bella, I’d tell him to go before I screamed rape.
But nooo, she tells a possible lunatic coming from a psycho ward, “Yeah, sure. Cause, like, you’re beautiful, and therefore can’t be at all crazy, right?”
So now, I have to brave another two hundred pages to get a measly sum of thirty dollars.
I think I’ll be dead before I get through the last chapter.
Ah, well. I’ll probably update some more about my thoughts on the later chapters. Or, maybe I’ll just return the book and tell my friend, “Unless you want to send me to my grave, you will not say another word about Twilight.”
Probably the latter.