You'd suppose wrong.retyopy said:I suppose people hate it for the same reason people hate Call of Duty. Because it's popular. Or something.
While we're just scratching the surface of the zit, we'll come away with layers of misogynistic, Mormon abstinence porn breaking the pus-filled core of a middle-aged woman's creepy adoration for her dream man - who beats her - oozes out.
Then we're left with the open sore that her knowledge and research in the areas of prey/predator, biology, geology, geography, grammar, writing, empathy, maths, physics, anatomy left behind; almost whistling in the wind from the central blank hole now left there - a woman who reads classic romance books as her only friend before the most perfect man ever enters her life - and instantly declares her as the only one.
Looking across the epidermis, we can see little mini-zits rising to the surface as we realise the main core is teasing through the toxins with revelations that the ugly girl already had offers, is teasing an obviously gay werewolf - who is in love with her baby, destroys families for their love, gives up everything to be with a guy she's just met, let's him beat/stalk and pine after her, and spends four months just moping because he isn't there.
Even when we try and scrub the open sores off, we realise that the practice of having these dripping abrasions on your skin has been taken as a sign of honour, of fashion, of almighty right. It drives people swollen with spots to launch themselves at anything that would disagree, the furious rage of the unloved tearing apart those who are ex-sufferers or never suffered at all. There's is the only way to be. They are the only ones who truly know pain.
Then we look beneath the surface of the skin to find out what caused this huge zit and find a plethora of chocolates, teenage longing and hormonal rage that it feeds on, hungrily, satisfied in the male by pictures of sweaty bodies - but satisfied here by bringing out millions of these little zits all across the bodies of those that read them. Permanently disfiguring the reader with ideas that make normal relationships dangerous, if not impossible.
Finally, we'll scrub the remains of the zits off our skin, and we'll find out that years later, unscrupulous people are still injecting this vile collection of poisions back into our system by asking questions like "Why all the hate on Twilight?".
No sir, I don't like it.