My reply:
Stephanie Meyer's filth has no dignity. It is written like wet papier maché. The content is abomanble. The story is pointless and the language is vile. As for what my parents did for me to end us as I did, here is what they answered:
My mother: "Haha, we gave you handjobs whilst reading fairy tailes, every single night."
My step-father: "I'm not quite sure."
My father was not avaliable for any comment, I'm afraid.
I can assure you that I do not have a "NO LIFE", although Im not quite sure what it implies. I must also object to the comment that I have turned WTP into a pervert. In my story he is certainly a victim, not a pervert. Naive, yes, ignorant, by far, but a pervert, not in the least.
You must understand that the contrast with the expectations of WTP as a character and the 'perversion' of the plot, is what makes this story funny. I plant an expectation and violate it. That is what humour consists of.
We Do It Cuz We Kishin
2009-08-10 . chapter 1
Dear God, you have no life.
Me:
I'm not God. I would never imply such a preposterous concept. I am almost compeltely sure that I exist.
TheVanquishedandQueen
2009-07-18 . chapter 1
Okay, first of all,
WTF means what the *insert curse word here.
And that was exactly what I was thinking when I read this drabble.
It's not funny, dude.
Just no.
I'm speaking for the fanbase and the antis when I say.
You're insane for writing this.
Seriously, why would you even THINK of this!
I am a anti and proud, but by what I've seen of Edward, he only does this to Bella. X) Okay, no, he wouldn't even to her, but, Winnie is just no. Okay.
Don't try to do this. Ever again. DX
By the way, it's 100 acre wood. Not yard. But, I'd say you're not welcome in either fandom anymore for this crime.
~ The Vanquished & Queen
Me:
Ok. I respect your right to think exactly what you like. I''m not interested in your fandom. I couldn't care less. As to why I thought of it, the why question is diminshed when one understands the how question.
A quick continuation of the story:
Winnie the Pooh woke up and looked towards his grandfather clock that he had conveniently bought for a reasonable price at eBay. It read thrity-five past seven. He assumed he had got up early, but quickly noticed the absense of any light.
He muttered some blasphemic remarks and stumbeled shakily towards the cabinet marked 'HUNNY' in large, friendly letters. He opened it with the left paw whilst scratching his rear-end with the right. This terrible head-ache knew only one cure. His fix. His cure. His remedy. His repair.
He blearily unscrewed the jar as he sat down on the sofa and turned on the television. More reports of attacks obviously. No surprises there. As he smelled the contents of the jar, he readied the mirror on pure instinct. He had done this so many timed, he didn't need thought to do it. Hardly even reaction. He tipped the jar slowly and made a long line of the 'HUNNY'. Soon he would be just fine.
The anticipation of the delicious treat to come almost made him shake more. He managed to supress it. He needed this too much to spill any. As his tongue slowly slid across the smooth surface of the glass he could smell the lovely cure, already working. When the surface of the remedy hit his taste buds there was an explosion of adrenaline and endorphins in his blood-stream. This was it. His ultimate experience. This is what he lived for.
As his mind slid slightly out of sync with reality he thought; "My bum hurt."