Here’s the thing. NO. You can’t get all facebook users in one group. I know, because I will never, ever join one of these groups. Everyone needs to stop inviting me. 

What’s even the point of these groups? There’s already a group for this, it’s called FACEBOOK. 

Seriously… To anyone who has started or joined one of these groups, here’s a message for you: Your effort is pointless. Even if you get every other facebook user on earth to join your group, I will never join any group that tries to get all facebook users. Even if you have every other person in the world, you still won’t have one of us. And if I ever see you advertising “We Did it! We have all 70 million users!” I will make sure you know that I am still not a member, and never will be. You can officially stop trying now, because even under pain of torture I will never join your group.

So, today, there was pig dissection in my biology class. We were not required to do it, mainly because it’s disgusting, and there’s really no reason to do it now that we have virtual dissection.

And I know our school has access to the virtual dissection, because they moved along with the dissectors on a big projection screen.

Anyway, so we were not required to do the dissection. I opted out and, making it quite clear that I wanted nothing to do with the mutilation of pig fetuses, asked if I could leave the classroom. I wasn’t rude, but I made it clear that I was squeamish, and persisted in asking if I could leave the room. The teacher kept saying no. It wouldn’t have been a problem if he hadn’t previously said he was going to allow students who wouldn’t do the dissection to leave the room. And it wasn’t a graded assignment, so there was really no reason to keep me there.

Anyway, he refused to let me leave the room. I asked if I could go get my towel (to wrap around my mouth and nose, to block out the smell of pig fetuses) and he refused. I asked to go to the bathroom, and he said no. This wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t allowed other students (who were in the same class, but actively participating in, and for some sick reason enjoying slicing up the dead pigs) to go to the bathroom.

He told me he “Usually just lets kids who don’t want to dissect the pigs go, but in your case…” and he trailed off. 

The whole period, I was tempted to induce vomiting in the general direction of his desk and body. 

Either way, I had to stand at the front of the classroom and look at a picture hanging on the walls so I couldn’t see them cutting open dead pig fetuses. I couldn’t even look out the window because he had a projection screen with pictures of what they were supposed to be doing on it right over the window.

He kept saying I must be “getting in touch with my feminine side,” which is sexist in way too many ways.

I don’t know if he thought he was being funny, I don’t know if he thought he was teaching me a lesson, and I don’t know if he was just mad that I wouldn’t participate in his sick little (non-required, mind you) assignment.

But I have a newfound respect for a few people in my class, the angry blonde who I previously disliked who refused to go any further in the dissection after a certain point, and the few people in the class who actually seemed disgusted the whole time, the people who were saying “I really feel bad now, I’m cutting up a little pig.” Those people I have respect for. But the people who were laughing every time they made an incision, who cracked up whenever a bone broke, the people who go out of the room saying “Dissecting pigs is the best,” the people who spent their period mutilating the pig way past the point of scientific study (cutting the pig in half, picking it up by the tail, etc), those people are filth. I have less respect for them than I have for an uneaten tomato rotting at the bottom of a landfill. Of course, even the rotting tomato provides food for junkyard bugs, which makes them worth more than the idiots who took some sick pleasure in cutting up the pigs.

Quick message to my teacher, should he read this: Thanks for “teaching!” I plan to file a complaint against you as soon as I write out the whole situation in some way that’s a lot less like a rant.

This is not, for the record, the Two-Face from “The Dark Knight” nor is it in any way related to that. I don’t want to hear any bitching about “This doesn’t look or sound like the movie two-face” because it isn’t the movie two-face. It’s me. Doing a project. I’m not doing an impression of anyone.

Especially not anyone who’s ever played two-face.

And I hate the voice I do, and how often I look at the Camera as Two-Face.

First of all, there’s the obvious issue of Pedophilia. He’s over one Hundred years old. She’s sixteen. Now, most girls I know wouldn’t like a hundred-year-old no matter what he looked like. In real life, he would probably still act like a grandfather even though he still looks like the golden-haired pretty-boy of the eleventh grade. Then, there’s the necrophilia issue. He shows all signs of life, but his cells do not divide, he does not age, his heart does not beat, and he is technically a walking corpse. Next, He drinks blood to stay young. No matter how you turn that one, it’s creepy.

Next up, Dracula. He has the same issues as one Mr. Cullen, but my main problem with him is the fact that he’s always painted as a romantic character, even though he’s the villain of the story. He sneaks into the bedrooms of sleeping girls and drinks their blood as they sleep in their beds. Why does everyone think Dracula is this sexy, clean-shaven man in a cape with dark hair? In the actual story, he was a middle-aged to elderly man (depending on the point in the book) with a receding hairline around the temples, unnaturally thin with unnatural features and a White Fu Manchu Mustache. 

I don’t understand why people think Vampires are attractive. If you saw someone on the street behaving like that, you’d have one hand on your pepperspray and the other dialing the local police to report a suspicious character. Don’t even get me started on how people would react if you saw them in an airport. 

Not to mention that as a rule, Vampires (supernatural ones, at least), as a rule, are soulless. That’s why you can’t see them in a mirror or on film. (sorry, science. You can’t convince me that it isn’t light reflecting off the mirror or through the film, I’m sure it’s the soul thing.)

I think we have the real thing here.

I found it on YouTube, a user who had come into the picture by their own means stuck it on the end of the Series 4 Trailer. This is why I can’t guarantee its authenticity. It could be this guy photoshopped it, or made his own Davros costume and took the picture himself (with professional lighting and make-up, of course.)

Oh, and I apologize for the picture’s low quality, but hey. A low-quality picture that may or may not be fake (more likely not) is better than no picture at all.

Man, am I going to feel like a horse’s ass if Davros doesn’t appear in the finale.

I’ll post again when I find more.

Now, it’s not actually the fangirls themselves who I have a problem with. It’s the characters they fall in love with. Harry Potter, Artemis Fowl, Edward Cullen.

Let’s start with Harry Potter. Everything good about him comes from other people. Hermione does all his homework for him, and the only subject he was ever great at was defense against the dark arts. And even that came from Voldemort, as did his ability to talk to snakes. Seriously, he’s not even that clever. Whenever he’s in a tight spot, Hermione or Ron bails him out. The only real redeeming quality is that he’s described as good-looking and that he’s good at sports. Of course, that’s enough to be worshipped in real life.

Next up. Artemis Fowl. He’s not a likeable character. He’s smart, but he doesn’t like people. Every Artemis Fowl fangirl I’ve ever met automatically assumed that Artemis would love her. The problem is, even if he was attracted to her on a physical level, what would he talk to her about? He can’t tell anything about the fairies, which has been the center of every event in his life from the age of twelve to sixteen. And even if he talked about human matters, he would talk like a college professor. I’m betting the majority of twelve-year-old girls would be bored out of their minds with whatever he had to say, but because he’s not real, he’s idolized. Plus, I bet he would find them boring. He doesn’t watch the same TV the average teenager does, he doesn’t read the same books or do the same things. Let me tell you, I wouldn’t want to hear about TRL or whatever it is the kids watch these days if I had an IQ like Artemis’s.

Edward Cullen. Now, I warn you, I have not finished the book he’s from. But I’ve read enough to know he’s a creep. “Let me drive you to Seattle, several hours away, in a car where we’ll be alone for several hours without witnesses.” “Could I be considered scary?” I was listening to this book on my iPod, and I was honestly clutching the blackjack by my bed, just in case I turned around and saw this guy in my room. He’s a creepy pedophile, he’s a hundred and she’s sixteen. In real life, he’d be running from the cops. The girl who recommended this book to me was trying to explain that maybe I learn later that he’s not a creep, but until I see it for myself, I’m going to keep on holding that blackjack.

I feel like the reasoning behind the choices is that they are either alone or have the world against them. Because they’re the protagonist of the story, you automatically want them to accomplish their goals. So the thought creeps into the fangirl’s head, “The whole world’s against you… But I’m not.” And it’s the same thing with fanboys, only I’ve never met so many fanboys dedicated to the same character. It’s mostly because when a guy says something like “Hermione is mine!” people think they’re objectifying women, but when a girl says “Edward Cullen is mine,” it’s fine. It’s a double standard, I know, but it’s how it works.

Which is why I have a problem with fictional characters. I wish the authors would just announce to the fans “My characters have no interest in you.” That would solve everything. 

The other thing contributing to this problem is fan fiction. Fictional characters will do anything for anybody in a fan fiction. You’d be surprised how many I’ve seen where the author’s name is Lauren and Artemis Fowl falls in love with Lauryn. You’d be surprised at the number I’ve seen where Harry Potter adores Samantha and the author goes by Sammy. You know your obsession has reached an all-time high when you insert yourself into a Fan Fiction. 

So, it’s good to know what you like, but let’s try to keep it in your head. I don’t need to hear any more arguments about who Edward Cullen belongs to.

Jar Jar Binks was allegedly meant to be a comic foil in the vein of C-3P0. What he ended up being was a racist caricature. Even if he weren’t racist (there are George Lucases out there who would argue he’s not), he’s still extremely annoying. You can’t understand a word he’s saying, and if you’ve never seen “The Phantom Menace” don’t even try to understand him. You could pretty much just mute the TV during the times he’s talking and make things up. Hardly anything he says is useful to the plot, and most of the time he might as well be saying “Feets, don’t fail me now!”

When I first saw “The Phantom Menace,” I didn’t understand why Jar Jar Binks was racist. But may I plead Seven Years Old? I still didn’t understand that the Black Crows from Dumbo were racist. I read several “Boondocks” strip which included “Wacky Fun with Jar Jar Binks!” So, of course, I asked someone to explain it to me. Instead of just saying things like “He looks a little too much like Blackface Comedians” or “His ears look like dreadlocks, and his voice sounds like a Bad Jamaican accent,” my father decided to have me watch a clip of Stepin Fetchit. Oh my God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such likeness in my life.

I recommend that you watch “The Phantom Menace,” even though it is a terrible movie, just to know what I mean.

So I made this video to Educate them.

If anyone’s read the book “Brave New World,” Ms. Montana honestly reminds me of a member of the Programmed Masses of Huxley’s Dystopia. The only problem is, she isn’t content, ever. She has a net worth of over 17 million dollars. Her name and face is stamped on the backpack of half the girls between the ages of 3 and 14 in the United States. She’s a household Name. What more could she want? Simple, more money. Her recent Shameless Publicity scam in Vanity Fair makes me do a doubletake. On the one hand, I’ve always believed there’s nothing dirty about the outside of the human body (sorry darvit, everything below the skin is gross) and that there’s nothing wrong with showing it. Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. And as scandal pictures go, this one is possibly the most innocent on earth. More innocent than Genie-Obama, even.

Please Resuscitate anyone who just fainted at me comparing Barack Obama to Hannah Montana (Obama/Montana? Let’s look into that) But this picture shows her shoulder blades.

Now, I know that many of you overprotective parents out there have not broken the big news to your children that they have a body below the neck, but honestly, If I had a choice between my kid (Hypothetical) looking at Hannah Montana dressed like the girl on the Les Miserables posters and my kid looking at Lindsay Lohan un-dressed like Marilyn Monroe, I’m going to have a mural painted of Hannah Montana’s picture on their bedroom wall. Which actually brings me to the other scandal pictures of her. Little Ms. Green-Bra is quickly coming into her own.

Now, this might be the teenage guy in me, but what exactly is everyone’s problem with the green bra picture? I’ve seen parents allow their 8-year-old daughters to wear bikinis to the beach, but the same parents get all riled up when Ms. Montana shows her undergarments. She’s the good-girl of scandal pictures. Hannah Montana’s Vanity fair photo is a glass of Sprite. The Green Bra picture is a Shirley Temple, tops. By comparison, “A night in Paris” is a cup of tea using marijuana for tea leaves. So which drink would you want your kids drinking? The sprite you give your ten-year-old on New Years instead of Champagne? The Shirley Temple that your fourteen year old son orders, always hoping that the bartender will forget that Shirley Temples are non-alcoholic? Or pot-based tea?

You’re the bartenders here, parents of America. Let’s give the kids a delicious and relatively wholesome drink instead of a drink that’s obscenely illegal.