Shiny

Apologies for disappearing for a few days there, things got pretty busy and I didn't have my usual constant internet access. Never fear, though, for I have returned with a brand new Douchelord of the Day. Actually, it's a woman, so would that make her a Douchelordess? Douchelady? Whatever the correct word is, that's what she is.

I'm talking about Stephenie Meyer. To start, your first name is spelled stupidly. I know, you didn't pick your name. I don't care. It's still stupid. Second, and of much greater importance, you have unleashed upon an unsuspecting world a string of poorly-written books and an excuse for teenage girls to wear shirts proclaiming their love of men who sparkle. For either of these offenses, you should be tied to a chair and beaten with a hammer. For both...well, as sick and twisted as the collective human consciousness is, we have yet to come up with a punishment suitable for the plague which you have inflicted upon humanity.

Don't get me wrong, it's great if people are out there reading books, and there are plenty of good ones. These books, however, were not written to tell any great or even vaguely original story. They were not written with anything resembling talent. They were written with the sole purpose of making a lot of money. There's nothing wrong with making money, but Ms. Meyer, did you really have to do it in a way that also caused hundreds of teenage girls to accumulate in every bookstore and movie theater in the country simultaneously? You knew that would happen; you had to know it, because you wrote your female lead character as essentially an empty shell, so that any young female reader could simply plug herself into that role while reading, and you then placed that character in a story that virtually any young female reader would wish to find herself in: a world different from her own, where an exceptionally youthful-looking 104-year-old man would sweep her off her feet, because that is perfectly reasonable to expect.

Oh wait, no it's not. In fact, that's the same sort of myth that Disney has been feeding the youth of America for damn near a century now, which is exactly why we have a bunch of damn emo kids sulking around, reading these books and watching these movies, because everyone has a fucking unrealistic expectation of love and romance and life in general. Shame on you, Ms. Meyer, for perpetuating that myth to the most susceptible generation we've produced thus far. You deserve a far worse fate than whatever the universe has planned for you.