Write Like A Shmeyer Day

It's been a while since my last Anti-Twilight post. I guess I seem to have matured and stop beating it to death.

Wait.

NAH!!!!!!

Everyone knows the writing in Twilight is crap. Well, actually it's crappier than crap.

If crap had a kid and the kid had a pet and the pet's kid had a pet, that would be Twilight.
(Ice Age reference!! Whoot!!!)

LOL

Anyway, a bunch of sane people who are tired of the fails in Twatlight have banded together and oppose SMeyer.

In Forks, Washington (you know, the town Bella constantly mocks), September 13th is Shmeyer Day. Why the heck they are celebrating being treated like bunch of rednecks by the main character is beyond my understanding. Unless it's to burn a Shmeyer effigy, that I would like to see :)

Burn shmeyer, BURN!!

Back to the point, us sane people who are tired of all things Twishit, will be celebrating something else on September 13th. *Drum roll* Write like a Shmeyer Day!!!!

Here's the link to the Facebook Page

Created by "No, Twilight is Not Literature, or Quality Entertainment" admin Caitlin Brice, it's the day where you throw all the rules of grammar out the window and write as badly as a four-year-old on a candy high. If you have read Twilote then you should be able to know what to do, but if you haven't then I'll give you a hint: have the vocabulary of an 11-year-old, use big words in the wrong context, use redundency and use, a, lot, of, comas, in, a, sentence.

Here's an example I've been working on.

I saw him running towards me, his feet pounding the ground so loud and ferociously, like a baseball player, pounding a baseball ball. But I couldn't move. I was vacillating to possibilities that he would trip. But he isn't as clumsy, as I am. I stood my ground, my stomach was unsettling -- doing backflips and going head over heels as he came closer and closer. My marble Adonis was suddenly in front of me, his eyes were like melted ocher under the sunlight, and his lashes curled like it has just been permed. I swooned at his awesome breath, which smelled like cinnamon, the good kind. "Stephenie," he muttered. "No," I murmured, "it's Bella, my sweet asparagus," "Why?" He muttered back, glaring at me with those golden eyes intensely. "If others knew that I was writing about my wet dreams then I would never sell another book," I stummered, as I caught sight at his glorious fingernails and my heart stopped beating and was still for a second before it resumed it's constant spluttering.

Ouch.

That hurt my brain.

A. Lot.

To end my blog today, I'll post some Anti-Shmeyer :) Enjoy!

Kill her Light! KILL HER!!!

Wish it was banned everywhere else too...

I'll have Firewhiskey!