TOPMAN. JUST DIE YOU’RE USELESS. URBAN OUTFITTERS. SORT YOUR FUCKING WEBSITE OUT. RIVER ISLAND. DRESSING HOLLYOAKS SINCE 2002. UNI QLO. I KNOW YOU’RE CHINESE OR WHATEVER THE FUCK BUT WE’RE NOT SO IMPROVE YOUR SIZING BECAUSE YOU’RE MAKING ME FEEL OBESE. AMERICAN APPAREL. DON’T EVEN. ALL SAINTS….
“my name is bella. bella swan. here’s what stephenie didn’t tell you. it’s super-duper-important. on the morning after it rained, it was rainy outside and i frowned at it being so rainy all the time. i chuckled to myself, darn weather! i stared at the rain outside, which is where they usually keep the rain. there was never any rain in phoenix. i love phoenix. i hate rain. i tripped over a large air pocket on my bedroom floor and bashed my skull into the corner of my bookcase, which had three shelves and was faux wood veneer. after i applied cold compresses and stanched most of the bleeding, i drove to school, but they must have moved the school building across town. i chuckled to myself, darn school moving people! after i drove around for a few hours looking for where they put the building, edward cullen pulled up alongside me in his shiny, silver volvo, which was silver and a saab, i think. his well-muscled chest was riding shotgun, wearing a blue-gray waffle knit long-sleeved t-shirt, relaxed fit jeans with contrast stitching in a lightly distressed wash, and an ivory-colored jacket made from the dyed skins of clubbed baby seals. he dressed very well, like someone who wears nice clothes. his well-muscled chest waved to me like an old friend, but edward glowered at me from the driver’s seat. his eyes were black. i think he came down with glaucoma. even though he glared at me and gave me the finger, he smiled and told me to follow him to school. he knew where they kept it. i wonder how he found out. but just then, i nearly tripped over my gas pedal and fell through the windshield. i am so clumsy. when we got to school, edward’s well-muscled chest walked me to english class. “try to be careful in there,” the chest giggled while at the same time giving me a sinister sideward glance that made the blood in the veins under my skin in my body feel ice-cold. “haha,” i giggled, tapping the chest on its rippling pectorals. “very funny,” i then said running my finger around his kennedy-half-dollar sized nipples. “i’ll try to be careful,” i joked, alarmed at the unearthly chill emitted by his taut obliques. everyone stared at us in the hallway, which was a long interior space allowing access to various doors. the students were wearing clothes and talking and carrying books. through the windows of the classroom which looked onto the out-of-doors, i could see the rain was still raining outside. then i tripped over my clitoris and fell into a galvanized steel av cart on casters. three people were seriously injured. i chuckled and turn bright red. how embarrassing. at the end of the school day edward cullen came to walk me to my car. his chest was nowhere to be seen. probably at banana republic or out hunting mountain lions again. i chuckled to myself, darn chest! “where’s my car?” i giggled after chuckling for a while. “don’t you remember that you totaled it this morning when you drove into the orphan’s hospital?” he said. he was looking at me with his eyes. he gave me his ivory jacket to keep me dry from the rain, which is usually very wet. then he looked at me again, smiling with the right half of his mouth but frowning with the left half of his mouth and oddly expressionless in the middle part of his mouth. “you know,” i said, falling over a parking bumper into a rack of bicycles, “rain isn’t the only thing there is that gets me wet.” “let’s just be friends,” he hissed, arching an eyebrow, flexing his sinewy wrists, and flaring his beautiful muscular nostrils. i realized then he might be a vampire. or really gay. or a really gay vampire. i should have known. he had erasure cassettes in the car.”—
“It’s really patronising to women. I know that there’s far more ways to be sexy than to dress in a miniskirt and a tank top. If you’re a real woman you can turn someone on in a plastic bag just by looking at them. That’s what a real woman is, when you’ve got the sex eyes. I think you attract a certain kind of man by dressing like that. Women wonder why they get beaten up, or having relationships with arsehole men. Because you attracted one, you twat. It’s a funny culture, it’s definitely a funny culture. Those women are just insecure, but they’ll turn round to me and say ‘you’re just jealous ‘cos you want a tan and you want big boobs, stupid boy-looking girl’. You can’t win, they wouldn’t believe me for a second.”—La Roux (via atrapforfools)