Okay, this Twilight bullshit is…bullshit…

A LITTLE CONTEXT:

My birthday was last Saturday. “Uncle” Aaron Waltke decided to give me “rage.” I initially thought it was truly the abstract notion of human emotional anger and dismissed his hand-inscribed envelope to the inner breast pocket of my Redcoat. But upon further inspection, I found out that he had indeed given me tickets to The Twilight [“]Saga[“]: New Moon. There are many things that make me rageful about this outlandish Twilight hype, but none more than the two I will address here, both of which come from the second installment of this “saga,” New Moon, which Aaron and I viewed Monday night. And even though I shouldn’t give a Christ-fuck-all about ruining this shitty movie for you, I feel obliged: SPOILER ALERT.

#1: Fuck you, Taylor Lautner.

Look, realistically, I got nothing against you. The same way I silently support Zac Efron when people start bashing him, there isn’t a soul on this planet who wouldn’t accept a multi-million dollar, multi-picture deal that would make them a household name at the age of 17, so good for you. But you’re dating this girl:

I’m dating this girl. That makes you my enemy. On top of that I heard your first date was to an L.A. Kings hockey game. I like hockey. I love hockey. And if you were half the boyfriend I was, you would have taken her to a real hockey game, like, say, where the Almighty Chicago Blackhawks were featured, or hell, any Original Six team, or a team that plays north of the Mason-Dixon line. But you didn’t, Hollywood. Dismal. But she probably already knows that. Did you know “I’d Lie” is about me?

Second of all, this is what you look like:

FUCK YOU.

Look, it’s bad enough that you look like this in general. If it wasn’t for Blondie’s love of my character, wisdom, hockey allegiance, sense of humor, down-home values and raw, vicious charm, I’d have no shot against you. But you’re fucking shirtless in almost every scene you’re in in this flick. I get the Hulk mentality: if at any moment you suddenly burst into the form of a twelve foot tall werewolf, your clothes aren’t going to survive that transformation. But why the fuck are you shirtless even before you turn into a werewolf?!?!?! I mean Christ, you’ve made your point, you put on 35 pounds of muscle to ensure your role in the subsequent films, you’re a man-child in better shape than David Beckham, you make me want to kill myself for not being as able as I should be and you’re eight years my junior. Quit ruining any chance I’ll ever have of appearing appealing to any heterosexual female for the rest of my life. You motherfucker. Take your money, walk the red carpet, keep my girl warm while I’m away shooting razor commercials, but make it fair for the rest of us. Oh and while you’re at it, graduate high school. I’m not talking home schooled, G.E.D., I’m saying earn a diploma. With your brain. Yeah, I showed you.

#2: But amidst the sparkling vampires, the politics of werewolf clans and the dry wit of Billy Burke, there’s one thing that really gets me about this flick: There’s a sequence after Edward Big Head leaves town and Bella Average goes to Guy Who Has My Girlfriend’s First Name’s house and they start rebuilding these dirt bikes, and then during this montage, a pizza guy shows up, delivering pizza of course. Bella pays him, then reaches into the box of pizza and, presumably, THROWS A PIECE OF PIZZA TO THE WEREWOLF.

I am a passionate man. And there are some things I am truly passionate about. Such as the supremacy of the Chicago White Sox over the Chicago Cubs. Or the bands Rise Against and Sublime. Or Carl’s Jr. One thing that I love but I do not cling blindly to my opinions on is pizza.

I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago. I love deep dish pizza. But I also truly enjoy New York style. You put what you want on your pizza, I don’t give a shit. Hawaiian style, ham and pineapple? Why the fuck not, everybody’s gay once in a while! Cheese only? Not for me, but to each his own. Anchovies? I might take issue if you’re under the age of 55, but even if you are, enjoy that pizza that tastes like 90 year old Polish hooker snatch. But one thing I can say, without a doubt, is that no one, in the history of human civilization, has thrown a piece of pizza to someone - yet alone a wannabe mechanic elbows deep in axle grease - with the intention of them catching the slice and then eating it.

That’s when this movie “saga” lost all credibility to me. I’ll accept the horrifically bastardized cookie cutter explanations out of traditional (read: hundreds of years of precedent; at least since the original Dracula in 1897) vampire mythos. I’ll accept the fact that vampires can only play baseball during thunderstorms because the impact of bat on ball makes too much noise [I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP], and I can even accept that this totally normal, bland, in general not attractive girl with nothing going for her somehow is able to deflect any and all vampire supernatural mind powers, but this pizza shit is beyond obscene. The movie does not exist in the world we know as reality.

I mean think about it! Pizza doesn’t just fall to pieces when you pick it up, but it is not intended for passing through thin air unaided. This is isn’t the Seattle Fish Market,

Or that guy at Dodger Stadium who’s been on Johnny Carson before because he slings bags of nuts behind his back from a section over and ten rows down and hits the target every time,

this is fucking pizza,

no one throws it.

That’s your problem, Twilight. You have no respect for pizza. I think, a long time from now, when history reflects on your anthropological impact, they will agree with me and say your mistreatment of American Pizza was your one flaw.

TWILIGHT: YOU’RE A FUCKING DISGRACE.

-Druska

P.S. I think “New Moon” will still probably take Best Director, Best Sound Editing, and Best Supporting for Billy Burke, as “Charlie.”