Dear Asswipe Who Invented The 'Bump-It',
First of all, go fuck yourself. It's your fault women look like idiots these days. Were it not for your needless shite hitting the shelves, women would look like normal humans. Rather, you've tricked the world's females into believing that they need to look like aliens in order to be socially acceptable.
Yours, Darsh..
Where do I begin shutting down your lies with a laser-targeted tongue-lashing? Mayhaps I'll start your licking at the butt of this problem, which ironically is also where I'll be nipping it... in the butt, that is.
1) THE BUMP-IT PROMOTES THAT STUPID 'I HAVE A BEE-STING ON MY HEAD' HAIRSTYLE, WHICH NO ONE LIKES. It's true, ladies. Now, to be fair, this hairstyle was coming into popularity long before the Bump-It was created. But don't worry, I called my friends at Hammas and put a jihad on the douche who invented it. That having been said, this redux beehive needs to die. Ever wonder why we laugh at pictures of women from the fifties that have beehives? It's probably because they have beehives. Everyone hates this hairstyle; it's time consuming, impractical, and just unattractive. What's worse, most of the women who wear them are those weepy, 'I don't know why everyone hates me' types. Really? You don't know? Well, maybe if you spent less time worrying about your fucking hair and spent more time worrying about what people will think of you after you screw everyone at the prom, then maybe your life would go a bit more smoothly.
2)THE BUMP-IT IS PART OF AN ENORMOUS PYRAMID SCHEME TO MAKE WOMEN LOOK LIKE ALIENS. My friend Dr. Ponzari and I have been carefully watching the Nielsens (that's what we call the TV in our apartment), and have noticed a peculiar trend in women's fashion: the 'I come in peace' look. It started waaaaay back in the days of 2005, when dinosaurs roamed the land, and sea-serpents with beards spoke to us of law and order. The gay, half-retarded Jewish masons who controlled the universe gave women enormous, bug-eyed sunglasses on a whim. But soon this practical joke took a sinister twist, like in that movie where the drunken friends kill somebody, then hide the body, but the next summer, they start getting death threats. You know, Sorority Row. Now that's a teen slasher flick that looks fresh. But back to the aliens. It starts with enormous sunglasses, then anorexia makes a comeback amongst twelve-year-olds and scenesters, the only two kinds people stupid enough to buy huge sunglasses, and now the Bump-It. Big eyes, skeletal bodies, engorged craniums... Invasion! What's next, satellites in the sky that beam television into our computers? God, no!
3)WOMEN WHO WEAR BUMP-ITS ARE FACEBOOK WHORES. Ever since I joined FaceBook, I've noticed a new brand of Internet whores.. FaceBook whores. They don't have webcams, and they don't videotape themselves flossing. FaceBook whores are women who, whilst wearing Bump-Its, create elaborate fantasy realms within the confines of their Info pages. These fantasies are often called 'lies'. In the example below, I'll take the 'lies' out of the 'fantasy' to create the 'truth'.
NAME: Ravencrow Neversmiles
OCCUPATION: Pagan Healer/Chalice Holder
HOBBIES: Worshipping the Dark Lord Faustus, Having Sex With My Fellow Chalice Holder/Husband Aleister Cullen III, Twilight, My Two Kids, Crystals, Evanescence
LOCATION: Hell
Here's the truth:
NAME: Claire Queeflinger
OCCUPATION: Day Manager at Starbucks
HOBBIES: My Two Kids
LOCATION: Sandusky, Ohio
I feel bad for these women. They obviously have no self-respect, and need to wear Bump-Its to feel better about themselves. C'mon, ladies, you're beautiful... on the inside. And you have really loud and interesting opinions about which Lacuna Coil song represents your life best. So, yeah... Also, your internet poetry is great! Everyone loves reading about which parts of Twilight you masturbate to. But maybe you keep that off the internet. If you want to write down your feelings about something like that, maybe you get one of these new things that are all the rage at Hot Topic: Journals! It's just like a blog, except no one can read it. Ever. Period.
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