5 Reasons Vampires Can Suck It

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1.Twilight. I have never seen so many 13-year-old girls packed into a screaming-sardine-can of a movie line at a premier. I never knew the word ‘shrill’ was an onomatopoeia until that day. I lost all of my high-range hearing within coming 50 yards of the theater, within 40, my wind shield shattered. Within 30, a ring of birds lay dead after falling from the sky.

2. Twilight. Edward Cullens has ruined the image of every male on this planet. If I hear one more girl say, “I need to find my Edward”, I will flip a bitch. EDWARD IS NOT REAL. I don’t compare you to fictional characters (such as Megan Fox), don’t compare me to Edward Cullens. It’s even worse when girls call their secret crush ‘Edward’. Never heard of this? That’s because the girl knows it is FUCKING WEIRD and she only tells her diary, and everyone in the room when she is wasted. Although I’ll have to admit, the guy does have nice hair.

3. Twilight. Ever since everyone decided to jump on the Twilight bandwagon, you can go nowhere outside the safety of your home without being barraged with miscellaneous items marketed with vague looking vampires. And for that very reason, I have not left my house in over 3 weeks. And just when you thought that Valentine’s Day couldn’t be even more of a corporate shit show of lies and worthless crap, you were completely wrong. ‘Twilight Sweethearts’ (you know, the chalky little heart-shaped candies that are embroidered with corny sayings; the ones you pass around class on Feb.14) have already hit the shelves. What a mash-up! Your favorite, shitty candy and your favorite, shitty movie rolled into one. It’s STILL OCTOBER. Everything from Harley-Davidson’s to shoelaces are sporting the Twilight name. These spin-offs are getting ridiculous. Which leads me to my next point.

4. True Blood. I…don’t even know where to start on this one. It’s like thinking about that time we had George W. Bush representing our country for eight years. I’m pulling hair from my scalp as we speak. If this show is still on the air next year, I’m moving to the moon.

5. Twilight. The being of badass that once was the vampire, has slowly been depleted to a puddle of Disneyesque mush. They started out as blood sucking freaks, possessed by the night, willing to ravage anything for their next score. A crack head of sorts. Then The Lost Boys came around. These motorcycle riding vampire punks were pretty badass; they loved to party and prey on the innocent. But they weren’t out of Transylvania, and they didn’t have cool accents. They just kind of hung out in Santa Cruz, being badasses. But now, Twilight comes around, and the same people who listen to Miley Cyrus (little girls, their mothers, and their creepy neighbors) are filling millions of theaters, sporting clip on fangs, and fueling a national phenomenon. NOT BADASS. No matter how many times you Edward Cullens in a leather jacket. And yes, the title, pun intended.

Mumbles. Part One.

"Two-thousand hours of each year, that is the amount of time the average working person spends at their jobsite."

He stood there. A sad, spiteful smirk on his face. A lesser version of the face a man makes when he finds that his wife has been making runs to his best friends bedroom while she 'takes the dog out on walks'. Despair, and disbelief; jumbled into a torn mask.

His eyes scanned the room. Looking for recognition, for acknowledgement, for life. For something.

Nothing.

His vision darted. Searching each of their pupils. But they sat there, everyone of them. Vision robbed by the black hole of their computer screens. They sat there. Typing. Lost.

He continued his talk.

"The division of labor. Marx argued that this economic plan would turn us into machines, just replacable hardware. No longer is there a master of the craft, now only nuts and bolts, good for one purpose; that which they are assigned. Without the puzzle and passion of the full product, we lose purpose for both puzzle and passion. Art, beauty, appreciation. All of these are inevitably burned out by the daily grind of placing those loafs of bread in the same plastic bag in the same manner, in the same hours, in the same days. Year after year. There is no need for motivation, for desire, or exertion. Your life is there, comfortably layed out in front of you on a plastic tray."

He paused for a moment.

His eyes scanned again. Nothing. No acknowledgement, no life.

And they sat there tapping, typing. Fixated and lost.