The End of All Things

Like the barbarian hordes of yore, the Twilight fanatics (I shan't be caught dead referring to them as 'twi-hards') unleashed their fury upon the film world. Proving once and for all that no amount of boy wizardry or man bat-tery can defend against tween mormonry, New Moon demolished the largest opening day gross record previously set by The Dark Knight. 72.7 million dollars. In a single day. Take note, Republican party. The way to America's hearts and minds: pasty-faced, fog-dwelling Northwesterners with a penchant for fanatical sexism and hints of emotional immaturity...Oh, wait...


The one positive note that can come of this: the end of "OMG >>>NEW MOON TONITE!!"/"gettin drank with my ladies then off 2 see my babe, edward" updates on Facebook. Thursday evening proved to me how disgusting my social networking habit has become. Signing on to Facebook was kind of like sifting through wet garbage to grab that half eaten peanut butter cup under the coffee filter (mocha-licious!). Except in this case, the peanut butter cup tasted really annoying, so it wasn't worth it in the first place. 


Seriously though, people. Can we, the same men and women who witnessed the Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Matrix trilogy, the Star Wars trilogy, the Harry Potter series and, to a lesser extent, the Home Alone trilogy, allow ourselves to fall victim to this masturbatory depiction of Christianly "romance"? Are we really so hopeless as that? Let me just share with you the first sentence of Stephanie Meyer's enchanting opus: "I was ninety-nine point nine percent sure I was dreaming." Well, now. Willy Shackspear hisself could not have writ a beautifuller sentence for my eyes to behold. If I had but forty-six point three percent of her writing prowess...but nay! Dreamers are fools.