World of War–man, getting my dick sucked is not fun. I’ll go have a LAN party–Craft.

I’ll start this one on a positive note.  The only good thing about the MMO game World of

Theyre at a LAN party in someones mothers basement, while she is upstairs making them pizza rolls in the microwave.  How kind.

They're at a LAN party in someone's mother's basement, while she is upstairs making them pizza rolls in the microwave. How kind.

Warcraft is that it’s like natural selection.  It does me and the rest of the female population of this world a huge favor–it clearly distributes men directly into the “unfuckable” category.  That way, we can ensure that their sperm never interacts with our ovaries, and thus we don’t really have to worry about children being born already equipped with a dependency on Mountain Dew, Pop Tarts and Little Caesar’s 5 dollar pizza.  Although I suppose that might make feeding them a little cheaper (by the way, I will admit that I love all three of those foods.  Separately, and only every couple of days.  Okay, Pop Tarts are acceptable every day.  Whatever).

Anyway.  World of motherfucking Warcraft.  I once had a boyfriend who basically gave up his life to this game.  And what’s even cuter?  His username was an adorable corruption of the word “marijuana.”  So now all the ladies know that he sucks because a) he plays WoW and b) it’s a fair assumption that he’s smoked away whatever usefulness he might have had left.    (P——, if you’re reading this don’t get angry, you were completely aware of my feelings on the subject).  I remember one morning he woke me up and dragged me to his computer, sat me down on his lap and showed me around Azeroth (for the blissfully unaware, Azeroth is the “world” in which WoW is set).  HOW ROMANTIC.  “Hey baby, let me show you my digs… they’re pixelized, on this computer.  But I have three monitors so you can see EVERYTHING!  Now here, have a nice tall cold one–no not a delicious beer, I have a mini-refridgerator stocked with cans upon cans of Mountain Dew.  Doesn’t that take the edge of the day off?  Shh shh baby, it’s okay… we can cuddle after I finish my quest.  It’s important, I have to get to the Queen of Blah Blah with the magic crystal that I found in such and such a cave, after I fought off hundreds of fire-breathing orcs.  Aren’t you proud of your big strong man?”

Absolutely NOT.  I mean… I am almost at a loss for words here, people.  How can anyone defend WoW as a game that encourages social activity and mental stimulation?  These players sit in a dark room, hooked up to an IV of Mountain Dew and staring so hard at their computer that they need a new glasses prescription every three months (and they all wear glasses.  They do).  They justify the inherent lack of physical human interaction because apparently chatting with people through your headset as you go off and raid something that DOESN’T EXIST still counts as quality time spent with others.

I don’t trust people who say they only play WoW sometimes.  You can’t.  The design of the game is such that if you don’t get sucked in almost immediately and join a guild and schedule meetings and work around your WoW playing time, then you basically aren’t really playing the game.  You’re just walking about shooting shit and designing your outfit.  Where’s the fun in that?  HMMM?

Did you people know that you have to PAY for the privilege of playing World of Warcraft?  Well, you do.  Not only does it quickly destroy any chance of a social life you may once have had, but it leaves its cloven hoofprint on your bank account as well.  I mean, I think it’s like 15 bucks a month or so, which isn’t that bad, but still.  That’s 15 dollars you could have spent on a bottle of tequila, which if shared with the right person would have for sure guaranteed the no-pants dance.  Sharing a game of WoW?  Completely eliminates any chance anyone will want to touch your no-no square.

Obviously, players of WoW do not posess what we real-life inhabitants like to call cause/effect rationality.  You might have heard the cliché, “he can’t see past the end of his nose.”  Well WoW fanatics can’t see anything, because their habitats are completely blacked out to only allow light emitted from their computer screens.  They’re slowly becoming Gollum.  Mmyyyy precccioousss woooorld of waaaarcraaaft.  Yep.  Mark my words, one day WoW players will be like the 17 year cicada, only emerging from their holes once every 17 years to rob convenience stores of Mountain Dew and Pop Tarts, only to disappear again.  I cannot wait.

-Meghan

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Where the Hell is Buffy when you need her?

So, lovely readership of two (you assholes better promote your new favorite blog), I have finally decided to pen my first bitch rant.  It took me a while to decide what topic deserved my bitchy attention first, and I kept coming back to the one thing that’s been plaguing my happiness all summer long.

I shall prelude this rant with this disclaimer:  I have not technically read the work of fiction that I am about to verbally destroy.  I have not and I don’t want to read it, simply because of one thing:  the fans.

Oh shit, I lose.

Oh shit, I lose.

They scare the shit out of me.  They are rabid and ferocious and remind me of Hanson fans back in 1999, or maybe Miley Cyrus fans of today–but with fangs.  Why fangs?  Because, dear readers, these teenage girls love Twilight.

Yes, Twilight.

This book has been heralded by many as the next Harry Potter, and the movie producers certainly found a way to make HP fans everywhere go see it: Cedric Diggory lives again as the beautifully tragic vampire, Edward Cullen.  But anyway.  I digress.

Next Harry Potter?  WHAT THE FUCK, PEOPLE.  Let me explain the storyline in a nutshell: Beautiful mortal girl loves a beautiful undead boy, whose beautiful undead friends want to eat her, and it’s just SO TRAGIC so they have to go through thick and thin and blood and beautiful people wearing a lot of black velvet and undead versus mortal and GOD I HATE IT ALREADY, and that’s just the summary in the jacket sleeve.  I’m sorry, I think some fiend who can’t even spell her name right (Stephenie?  Really?)  got posessed by the evil spirits of both still-living (the irony, since it’s a book about fucking vampires) Nicholas Sparks and Anne Rice and somehow the two merged together to produce and entirely unholy monster that is trying to take the throne from my beloved BOY WHO LIVED.  Lived.  As in not a vampire.  Fuck.Ing.Hell.

And it isn’t even as though Harry Potter is some paean who will remain untouched in the bowels of this blog.  Believe me, I have much to complain about when it comes to that Boy Who Lived, and He Who Must Not Be Named, and so on and so forth.  So when something comes along and insults something that I already enjoy insulting, that insults me.  Nothing comes close to the ridiculous nature of Harry Potter and no romance novel thinly disguised as a serious love story will EVER reach the pedestal upon which I have placed that stupid boy with his stupid scar.  Ugh.

Okay.  Also.  I’ve heard a lot of hype about this book.  A lot.  I have not heard one single itty bitty miniscule utterance mentioning the quality of Meyer’s work.  No one is over the moon about her narrative tone.  No one has compared her themes to Shakespeare or Dickens or other people who are supposed to be good with themes.  It’s all about Edward and Bella.  Eeeedward and Bellllla, please someone bring me a trashcan so I can expel my lunch.  So.  Gross.

And another thing.  Can we, as a society of semi-intelligent people, please stop perpetuating an ideal of love and romance that is so untrue it drives the female half of our population crazy because they can’t achieve it?  I managed to get over the idea of love that I absorbed from countless Disney films, I don’t need another blockbuster brand to try to sweep me off my feet again and then drop me in a pile of trash, because that’s all you’ll get if you try to find the kind love that Twilight is perpetuating.  It. Is. Not. Real.  So now women are desperately trying to find their Edwards and men are quickly growing more and more single as the women they’re with realize that they’ll never be Edward.  Because there is no Edward.

I don’t care if it has Robert Pattinson or beautiful velvet-clad vampires, Twilight makes me sick.  Sick.

The next book that thinks it can displace Harry Potter from his position on high better at least have a better plot than sweet sappy forbidden romance.  Gag me.

-Meghan

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Hey Bitches.

What up.  Meghan here.  Soon, this blog will be full of bitching by me and my associate, Carleson.  Background on us?  We’ve been friends for two years, ever since I found him on facebook before his freshman and my sophomore year of college.   We like to drink.  We like to do crazy things, like talk about our plans to sleep in the handicap elevator (though we never actually went through with that).  We are both very opinionated and we have a penchant for very dramatic rants–hence the idea for this blog.  We hope you enjoy reading what we have to say, and if you don’t?  We’ll bitch about you.

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