A Klosterman-esque Tirade



I have neices. I feel we should get that out of the way. Keep in mind, I don't show pictures, I often tell them they are punished, and sometimes tell them Santa and The Easter Bunny hate them.

They enjoy bland Disney entertainment. Amanda Bynes, Lindsay Lohan, Hilary Duff, the parade of collarbone protrusion delights them the same way I am delighted by vodka. Only I don't think The Lizzie McGuire Show ever brought on nausea and a penchant for inappropriate men.

Anyway, Nicole (Niece The Elder, age 10) and I were watching Amanda Bynes vehicle "What A Girl Wants". The story of an unbelievably quirky chick who has never met her father (A Colin, i forget which one) who, also unbelievably, is some kind of British prince or some such. Makeovers, bitchy rivals, heartwarming talks with absent-dad over cocoa puffs ensue. Cockles? Warmed.

ANYWAY, somewhere in the middle, a young brit boy attempts to woo Amanda B. by taking over a party and singing her a rock song. I immediately and with great urgency, turned to Nicole and said "That. Never. Happens."

I knew i had to take it upon myself to keep her from suffering from "Lloyd Dobler Syndrome", the affliction I posses that drives me to teeth gritting whenever a guy DOESN'T hold a stereo over his head when I decide I like him. And where does it start? With that Nazi Walt Disney and his bland fucking entertainment. "Prince Charming". C'mon only an anti-semetic insanity pepper like Walter could come up with that shit.

Nicole immediately gave me a little sass, replying "It Could!". "No," I reiterated, "it won't.". Then I sent her to bed. It was 6pm.

Perhaps now she will settle for a non-romantic with alot of money, as so many of us should. I have averted the inevitable, as now she will not search out her Lloyd and spent most of college weeping as so many of us do, when trenchcoat wearing sad-eyed gentlemen don't wander into her life, but I can rest assured that I have squashed all romantic notions.

Imagine, my pretties, (and this applies to both men and women, Romanticism is hardly gender specific) that a gorgeous aunt, raven haired and well dressed, swopped down upon you at the end of Pretty In Pink and informed you that Molly Ringwald is FAKE, Andrew McCarthy is weird, Duckie is the obvious match for bucktooth girl in ugly dress, and James Spader is hot wether he was the bad guy or not. Perhaps high school would've been different? Perhaps you would never have had a broken heart? Can't help but wonder how things would be different if John Hughes never paired up The Psycho and The Jock.

I continue to hate Walt, as it's his fault that Prince's are thought to be charming, but Nicole is now steeled against the various assholes and douchebags sure to plague her young adulthood (at 10 she is already alarmingly beautiful).

I told her the easter Bunny still loves her, though.