Chapters 7-12


Here we are for part two of Virginal Bella. I’d like to start off by addressing the most frequent question from part one: “Are you sure this isn’t satire?” The truth is, I’m not. In 2005, Nathan Poe surmised, in reference to bible fundamentalists, that “Without a winking smiley or other blatant display of humor, it is utterly impossible to parody a Creationist in such a way that someone won’t mistake it for the genuine article.” This is where the term “poe” was born in order to describe a person who is parodying or satirizing a fundamentalist. It is nearly impossible to tell the difference between the crazies and the phonies, mostly because no matter what weird shit the phony comes up with to parody fundamentalism, it often seems just as plausible, given its removal from reality, that they truly believe it as what a fundamentalist believes.

Anyway, I don’t know if she’s for real. I certainly hope not. But as is the case with most people who prattle on like they’re insane, I’m going to assume she’s genuine and keep a safe distance. Now, on with the show.

Chapter 7

When it was time for food the tables were sent up in numerical order but as St Mark’s taught us we served the girls first then went back for our own plates.

Something about this seems oddly familiar. I can’t put my finger on it.

“Edward, Bella looks so gorgeous” Jasper said clapping me on the back.

That, too. What’s going on here? Am I psychic? Let’s try this out. I would make a joke about throwing bodies off a boat for the next line based on a typo.

“We need to get them on the sloops soon, Rosalie was begging me to teach her how to ski.” Emmett told us.

I’m fucking psychic! That’s right, I have the gift of precognition, or this author put the same chapter up twice and left it up out of complete laziness, because I know damn well someone must have told her about it.

(…)

Chapter 8

It was the first decent snow of the season and mum had rung Mr. Swan and he had allowed us to take the girls skiing.

It looks like something else slipped past your very thorough fact-checking, but Americans don’t say “mum.” We also don’t “ring” people; we call.

We arrived at our house after we placed our bags in the rooms and we took the girls to the ski shop so that we could get them skis, ski boots and the clothes that were needed.

They’re going skiing for the first time and they’re buying all their gear? I’m sorry, but first timers rent. They don’t know if they’re going to like it, or if they’ll ever do it again, so there really isn’t any point to spending several hundred dollars on it. I have a feeling this is just a set-up for another round of idiocy.

Before we walked in to the store dad pulled us aside.

“Now remember, boys, as the good book says, ‘never go ass to mouth.’”

“Girls don’t worry about the prices as we own 80% of this store. Just get what you like, the boys will help you fit your boots as they have worked here on and off for the last few seasons.” dad explained.

Like I thought, another round of idiocy. I’m confused by what this is supposed to imply. Owning 80% of a store doesn’t mean you can give people an 80% discount. All it means is that whatever you pay, the Cullen family will get 80% of the profits. I guess I can understand why he’s telling them not to worry about what they buy; he wants them to spend as much as possible. Just watch, next he’s going to try to sell them Amway.

“Thank you Mr. Cullen” they all said at the same time.

Yeah, because that wouldn’t be creepy as shit. Besides, saying shit in unison is reserved for identicals.

I held the door open for everyone.

Suave motherfucker.

Once inside I took Bella to the skis while Jasper took Alice to the boot area while Emmett showed Rosalie the clothes.

“Come stand here Bella” I requested of her and when she was standing where I directed her to, I pulled out ski after ski to measure them to make sure they would hit just under her chin as skis that height would be best for novice skiers.

Once I got the size correct I pulled out three for her to choose from. Black with yellow flowers, a green and red stripes and the last had a black base with three different shade of blue in a swirl pattern.

“The blue and black please” she asked shyly. I looked around to see what my brothers were up to. Emmett was finished and waiting but Jasper was still fitting Alice’s shoes. So I took Bella to find some waterproof clothes.

“What size are you?” I asked her.

“I’m size six” she told me. So I showed her where the size sixes hung and waited for her to choose the color she wanted.

Once we had pants and a jumper so that if she fell she would stay dry because all new skiers will fall at least once.

I saw that Jasper had finished getting Alice her boots so I walked with Bella so we could get her the boots that she needed to get.

After all the shopping we looked over our collection Bella was in blue, Alice in green and Rosalie in red. Just like their

dress the night we first meet in person.

Yeah, that just happened. I made you read through all that shit without my delightfully insightful commentary. You had to read about colors and patterns and the length of skis, all the time knowing that there was no innuendo intended. I take back my comment from earlier about speaking in unison only being for identical siblings. Everyone say it together now: “We don’t give a fuck what color their clothes are, it isn’t cute, and it’s not interesting.” I swear this whole chapter has a beige base with stripes of stupid, and even though it goes up to just under your chin, it’s still far too long. Fuck you, chapter 8.

Chapter 9

We went home to rest and read the bible in front of the the roaring fire.

Oh, oh, are you reading the part where the Israelites convince an entire city to cut off their foreskins so that the leader’s son can marry Abraham’s daughter, then when they’re all laid out from having the tips of their dicks cut off, the Israelites slaughter every man, woman, and child in the place, except for the unspoiled virgin girls? That’s my favorite part!

The girls had to read the bible for 30 minutes each day.

They’d be the only people in all of Christendom that ever did that.

So we each commandeered a couch for each couple and we pulled out our bibles out and I pulled Bella’s head onto my lap so that she was stretched out on the couch.

First, how many fucking couches do they have? Is this a living room or a swingers club?

Second, is it really appropriate for her face to that close to his dick? It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

As we were all reading I would rake my fingers through Bella’s hair releasing the sweet ambrosial smell of strawberries.

…Ambrosial smell of strawberries? I’m thinking Edward may need to get down on his knees and start praying the gay away. He’s got a girl’s face two inches from his cock, and he’s thinking about what her hair smells like. Definitely a catcher, probably a power bottom as well, if all that hugging with Emmett is any indication.

We stayed like this each couple in their own world, not caring what was going on around them.

And that’s when Bella farted. A wet, juicy moan, the kind that leaves a stain that’s shaped like a Star of David.

I looked up when I heard a throat clearing, dad was standing in the doorway with his arm wrapped around mum’s waist, they were both looking over at us with a contented smile on their faces.

That’s creepy. Like “the mom in Endless Love watching the kids fuck by the fire” creepy. Also, Duchess of Fact-checkia, it’s “mom.” I wouldn’t be so damned hard on you if you hadn’t included in your profile that “like to have the facts correct in my stories I research heavily to try to get my facts correct.”

“Kids, dinner is ready” mum told us then turned to head back into the kitchen.

Mom.

We all glanced at each other and placed our bookmarks in and headed in to the dining room we sat down and waited for dad to say the prayer.

This oughta be good.

“God our Father, Lord and Saviour, thank you for your love and favor, bless this food and drink, we pray and all who shares with us today. All praise to You, Lord Jesus, lover of children: bless our family, and help us to lead our children to You.

“Lover of children?” Did he just call Yeshua a pedophile? John the Baptist was—that’s why he slept in a hole in the ground out in the desert. I don’t like that you’ve slandered my friend’s name, but that’s beside the point. If you think he’s a pedophile, why the fuck would you lead your children to him?

Give us light and strength, and courage when our task is difficult. Let Your Spirit fill us with love and peace, so that we may help our children to love You.

You sick fucks. Taking your children to be molested by a pedophile isn’t bad enough. You have to get involved! What the fuck is wrong with these people?

Amen.” dad said and we all repeated amen and then started on the meal mum cooked for us.

Mom.

“So what are you planning on doing tomorrow?” mum asked.

Mom.

“I think we are going to take the girls to the slopes to the learning area first and then after lunch to the beginner trails.”

Jasper said and both Emmett and I nodded in agreement.

The girls shook their heads, but who cares about that? Women don’t get a say in this world.

My brothers and I quickly cleaned the table, mum followed us into the kitchen to start getting dessert organised to take to the table.

Mom.

“Organized” is the proper American spelling.

Emmett placed the scraps in the bin before handing me the plate for me to place in the dishwasher while jasper packed up the leftovers and placed them in the fridge, five minutes later we were all seated at the table to enjoy the homemade apple pie with custard.

Americans don’t call it a “bin;” they call it a trash can, garbage can, maybe garbage pale, but rarely, if ever, is it called a bin. A traditional all-American apple pie is served plain or with ice-cream, not custard. By now, it’s pretty fucking obvious that she’s not even trying anymore.

After dinner we went back to the couches and sat in the same positions as we were before dinner.

Not even going to mix it up a little? Boring. That missionary shit gets old fast.

I love that nobody has snuck away for some pre-marital sexual experimentation. It’s the reason nobody identifies with these characters— they’re avatars of some sexually repressed sense of morality that nobody in their right mind could possibly want to live up to.

I was reading while stroking Bella’s hair when I noticed her breathing slowing down and getting softer. Looking down I saw that she had fallen asleep.

I’m overjoyed that the author explained to us that her breathing is slowing down, so it’s getting softer. I might have confused it with her “softly” hyperventilating.

Chapter 10

I put my bible down and gently picked her up.

Sounds like a country song.

“Mum where is her bed?” I asked quietly trying not to disturb the angel in my arms.
Mom.

Edward should read that bible he keeps carrying around. To say she’s an angel is insulting to her appearance. Here is the description it gives of a Cherub…

“Ezekiel 10:14 – Each of the cherubim had four faces: One face was that of a cherub, the second the face of a human being, the third the face of a lion, and the fourth the face of an eagle.”

Pretty far from chubby happy babies with bows and arrows, wouldn’t you say? Try on Seraphim next…

“Isaiah 6:2 – Above it stood the seraphim: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly.”

churib

Let’s be fair, though. There are times in the bible where angels appear as men, and here’s the kicker: they’re always male. So either you’re implying that Bella is heinously ugly or, secretly, a man. I’m sure I’ve now ruined angels for somebody, so you’re welcome.

seraphim

“Follow me Edward” mum said leading me to the bedrooms on the second floor as my brothers and myself had our rooms on the third floor.

Mom.

Tons of couches, bedrooms on multiple levels, they own 80% of the ski shop, for some reason— the Cullens appear to be quite rich. Somebody has been practicing the prosperity gospel.

I tucked Bella in to her bed and placed a soft chaste kiss on her forehead, I walked out her door closing it softly.

Did we really need the “chaste” part of that sentence? The possibilities of kissing someone porn-style on the forehead are pretty limited. This is the chastest thing I’ve ever read. It’s literally a bible belt preacher’s wet dream. The irony of that statement is completely intended.

As I walked in to my room, after striping I cralwed in to bed and fell into a restless sleep I had dreams of children that were the perfect mix of Bella and myself as well as dreams of Bella strapped to a table the straps were going across her shoulders, belly, her hips and she was crying there were tears running down her face and she looked so terrified.

That’s terrible foreshadowing. What is he “striping?” Is he painting his room in the middle of the night?

This whole “premonition dream” bullshit is so fucking overused, my eyes are bleeding from yet another dimwitted cliché. Plus, now we know damn well Bella is going to have a litter of kids or some stupid shit.

I woke up gasping for breath, I just need to see her to make sure she was safe.

The probability of Bella being strapped to a table right now? Quite slim. Unless there’s something about Carlisle that we’re yet to find out. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he turns out to have a kiddie porn dungeon in his basement. You never know with these overly pious types.

I walked down the stairs and into mum.

Mom.

“Where are you going Edward, might I ask?” mum questioned so I explained my dream, what I wanted to do, what I needed to do and finally what I promised to and not to do while in her room.

Mom.

Promises are all well and good, but you listed it all, which shows you were thinking about it. Drop to those knees and pray, Edward Cullen. Those impure thoughts are going to send you straight to hell, or so they say. But since you’re going to hell… hehe

“Ok Edward I will allow it just this once and I will explain it to your dad.” mum told me stepping aside so that I could by pass her and walk in to Bella’s room.

Why tell dad at all? If you’re so confident nothing is going to happen, why does he need to know?

I softly entered the room and saw that she was agitated, tossing and turning in her sleep.

Oh, come the fuck on! A couple that has nightmares together stays together! This shit is testing the limits of my gag reflex.

It was a relief to see her peacefully sleeping well not really peacefully but she wasn’t strapped to a table.

And there goes my gag reflex. That sentence literally made me vomit. Stream of consciousness is never the answer, author. Was Edward really worried that she’d be strapped to a table in his guest room? I knew Carlisle was a dirty little fucker!

I couldn’t stay away from her any longer I am so not sure of the feelings that were developing in and around my body I think I am going to have to talk to mum and dad in the morning.

It’s called “getting horny.” Boys start to feel that way when they’re about to hit puberty, so  you’re a little late to the party (incidentally, have Edward’s balls dropped? I’m starting to think not), but might as well get used to it, bud, because it’s practically status quo for the rest of your life, or until your dick stops working, and probably not even then.

Also, Mom.

I crawled on to the bed beside Bella I stayed on top of the covers there was a soft knock on the door and mum entered handing me a light blanket for me to use.

This doesn’t seem like the acceptable behavior of good Christian children, or of good Christian mothers. Sounds more like one of those things that those pagan religions allow, or worse, atheists.

By the way, it’s “mom.” And speaking of mom, she’s okay with this?! “Sure, son, you can sleep in bed with your girlfriend since you had a nightmare.” You sly dog!

I got back on to the bed and pulled the blanket over my shoulders and fell into a contented sleep that was dream free.

No more prophetic Jesus torment, I see.

In the morning I woke to see Bella looking at me.

Was that supposed to be a cliffhanger? Busted! Oh, my god, your girlfriend is going to be so pissed that you are lying in bed with her!

Give me a fucking break…

Chapter 11

“Why are you in my bed Edward, not that I mind” Bella asked.

Oh, bitch, she told you! Wait, what? She doesn’t mind?! What kind of good Christian girl is this that doesn’t mind a dude on her bed? Fucking hussy.

“I had a horrifying dream that involved you and I couldn’t go back to sleep without seeing if you were ok. Mum saw me before I walked in to your room I had to agree to a few rules” I explained.

Like being an impotent little pussy that does whatever mommy says because he’s afraid of punishment, divine or otherwise. Sack up and fuck that girl.

“What were the rules?” Bella questioned.

Good question, Bella. I’m glad to see you brought your brain on this trip.

“Well there was only one major rule and that was to stay on top of your covers and not to wake you.” I told her.

That doesn’t mean that your erection poking her in the back couldn’t unintentionally rouse her, and she could then join your pansy ass on top of the covers. These are the clever loopholes you could have used to get some trim, Edward, but instead you chose to be an idiot. Although maybe “chose” isn’t fair, you can’t help how you’re written, and your character has been brainwashed since infancy.

“Thats two Edward” she said giggling.

Look, she can do math.

“True Bella, are you hungry I think mum has breakfast ready or at least cooking.” I informed her.

Mom.

“Ok, I am hungry.” Bella told me so I got up off the bed and I walked out into the hallway to see Jasper and Emmett do the same.

Wait, what’s going on here? Did all the girls have separate rooms? As well as the boys? So this home has at least seven bedrooms? And the only place we know they get any money is through a ski shop whose financial workings they apparently don’t understand much. I can’t even… I simply don’t have words for how ridiculous this premise has been so far, but I’m betting I don’t even have a clue yet, do I?

I looked at them and shrugged my shoulders.

“What time did you move down here?” I asked them knowing that we all went to bed around eight pm.

Eight PM? EIGHT PM? SIX MOTHER FUCKING TEENAGERS ON FUCKING VACATION WENT TO BED AT 8PM! WHO THE FUCK WOULD EVEN WRITE THIS SHIT? THIS FUCKING AUTHOR IS EITHER A DAMN GOOD POE, OR THE WORLD’S MOST OBLIVIOUS FUNDAMENTALIST NUTJOB THAT HAS EVER WALKED THE EARTH.

“Ten pm” Emmett said.

“Nine pm. what about you?” Jasper asked me.

“Eleven” I said as we all walked up to our rooms to get ready for the day.

All one hour apart, and Edward was last, because he loves the most. This thing is going off the rails fast. It’s like these people are the weird ultra-Christian version of parents that send their teenagers to Cancun for spring break and fully expect that they won’t drink and fuck everything in a five-mile radius—in that order.

Once I was dressed I walked down into the kitchen to find the girls eating waffles covered in chocolate and strawberries.

Don’t you mean calorie-free waffles with real chocolate and glazed strawberries? This is made up fantasyland, after all. Go fat or go home.

I sat down in the seat next to Bella and mum gave me my plate.

Mom.

“Thank you, mum?” I asked.

Mom.

That phrasing was…fucking awkward. Is he not sure he’s thanking her? Is he asking his “thanks?” What the fuck is this sorcery?

“Yes Edward” she questioned.

There is no question mark, meaning the author lied to me.

“After breakfast may I see you in your office, please” I requested.

I want to sing “Jesus Loves Me” and take communion, because a day just isn’t right without some ritualistic symbolic cannibalism.

“Sure darling” mum said ruffling my hair which made Bella giggle and me smile.

Mom.

Is Bella 10 years old now? Grow the fuck up.

After breakie I ran up the stairs to mum’s office and knocked on the door.

I don’t think the problem with this sentence is that it’s simply not something Americans say. Ever. I have a hard time imagining any teenage boy anywhere in the world using the term “breakie” instead of breakfast. Then again, they do say “barbie,” and they don’t mean the doll, so I guess anything is possible.

“Come in” I heard mum call through the door.

Mom.

So I entered and walked in and closed the door behind me, I sat down and looked at my hands.

This author picks the worst places for chapter breaks. It’s like she realizes that nobody would be interested to return for the next chapter if she doesn’t end the previous one in the middle of a scene, a chapter which usually turns out to be nothing worth returning for anyway.

Chapter 12

“Talk to me Edward nothing you say will leave this room.” Mum said so I looked up at her.

Mom.

What is she, a psychiatrist? Or is she bound by the rules of confession? Fundie mother-idiot son confidentiality.

“Mum I am having a hard time with these new feelings that I am discovering.

It’s normal, Edward. Some boys prefer other boys, and it’s perfectly natural. Go with it.

If he hasn’t developed any feelings for girls at this point in his life, I’m guessing he prefers to putt from the rough.

How did you know dad was the one for you?” I asked.

“He raped me and paid my father 50 silver shekels so he could marry me. It was a match made in Old Testament heaven!”

“Before I tell you about your dad and me tell me what you are feeling.” Mum questioned.

Take one guess, mom.

” I want to make her happy, I want to make sure she is safe, she makes me feel whole, when we are apart I feel like there is a huge hole in my heart that hurts with every heartbeat, when I see her smile it’s like the clouds have parted and I can see everything clearly for once” I informed her.

That’s so fucking sappy. Teenage boys don’t think like this. Sure, they may think they’re in love, and they may very well be, but there isn’t much room for a lot of these pretty, purer feelings when you factor in all the brain power used up by sexual fantasies.

I’m not even kidding. I’ve heard a lot of women complain that men are so hard to understand, and it’s completely untrue. The answer to every question asked of a man is “Whatever is in my penis’s best interest, whether right now or in the long run.”

If you see a teenage boy walking down the street, his mind is thinking about fucking every woman he passes along the way, and little else.

“Ok Edward do this for me” she said

Things are about to get pervy.

“Ok, mum.”

Mom.

You probably can’t tell, but obedient children piss me off. Personally, I’d rather be progenitor to a person, not a clone.

“Edward I want you close your eyes” I did as she asked.

Here comes the weird shit. I swear, if she sticks a tit in his mouth, I’m bailing on this whole project.

” Edward I want you to think about if you were never allowed to talk to Bella in anyway…”

“NO” I yelled out.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! (Be sure to picture this in slow motion everyone)

What a contrived load of shit.

“Shh Edward open your eyes for me please” I did as asked again,

“Ok Edward do you want it in simple terms or complex?” Mum questioned.

“Simple please” I chose.

This story is so fucking stupid. I don’t know how the author could bear to sit down and write this tripe. I don’t have a clue how other people have managed to read it without killing themselves, though maybe they weren’t reading it as close as I am. I’m barely hanging on as it is. With a mix of overbearing piety and some of the moldiest corn and cheese ever put to paper, this is literally the perfect fanfiction for driving me, Edmond Carmichael, insane. I need to go out and find a hooker to cleanse my soul after reading these chapters.

I’ll see you next time for chapters 13-18.

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16 comments on “Chapters 7-12

  1. Oh, god, this is terrible (the story). Please continue your work; you’re making this readable. I actually want to read this story hilariously through you.

  2. We don’t ring people up, but we do wring their fucking necks…ringing bells in the US declined sharply right after that disco song…maybe my use of the homophone would upset this author, given the fundamentalist stance on gays…

    I’ve never read anything like this fic…I’ve read allegorical shit, church-based crap, and the taboo priest/nun/lonely housewife tales…this is truly odd. And terrible. More than 80% terrible. I don’t know that this author is any more than a uniform-wearing third former at an all-girls public school…I don’t think she’s religious.

    So, in summary, they’ve corresponded for a year or so, gone to a formal together and are now on holiday together. I suppose that leaves dry humping, moving in together, buying a mutual pet and then marriage. Perhaps the mailman will be named James, and Jacob will be that helpful bagger at the supermarket.

  3. I am speechless. In part over the inanity of this story, but mostly over your self control to continue!
    Well done! I’ll say it again, there’s no way I could have read this far without your comments pinpointing and adding hilarity.

    I hope you can wash yourself clean with a good dose of sin 🙂

    • The things I’ve done to get the icky piety off me should probably never be written down, for legal reasons. But rest assured, I got around to my sinning and you couldn’t have slapped the grin of my face with a wrecking ball.

  4. I am completely dead after reading this!! This was awesome!! I cried I was laughing so hard.

    • I cried because I was reading it. Maybe some of those feelings of desolation and hopelessness seeped into my critique. ;P

  5. Your stamina, Edmond, is astounding. If I had a hat–well, you know.

    I can’t remember how long this holy terror is, but I’m amazed you’ve maintained your sense of humour/humor.

    The ass to mouth joke–perfect. Amway, … stripes of stupid, all had me laughing. I know it’s rude but “Duchess of Fact-checkia”, come on, how could I not laugh? When you get to Mum’s tit, and your crazed reaction to Edwards’ “No”! I lost my place because the track-pad was jiggling too much. There are too many good ones to list them all.

    I don’t know how you do it, but I’d like you to keep doing it. May all your fantasies come true – tonight! You deserve it.

    • I don’t know how I do it either. If you asked me two months ago if I was capable of something like this I’d have said “Fucked if I know, lets see.”

      As for my fantasies, I invited a special lady friend over. That’s probably all I should say, she wouldn’t want her voters finding out the things she let me do to her.

  6. Omg! I died from laughter. This is my ghost typing to you. I think I will now do 10 of those weird sex acts for you. I swear I learn something new every time you post.
    My favorite lines:
    “He raped me and paid my father 50 silver shekels so he could marry me. It was a match made in Old Testament heaven!”
    “Now remember, boys, as the good book says, ‘never go ass to mouth.’”
    “It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.”
    “Definitely a catcher, probably a power bottom as well, if all that hugging with Emmett is any indication.”

    I’m pretty sure she wrote this seriously. Here is an excerpt from another one of her stories for reference. It is Edward talking about the death of his wife. 1st. If there is a murder I don’t think you have a choice whether there is an autopsy or not. 2nd If there were a choice, I’m pretty sure a spouse would decide and not a parent. Again these differences were pointed out to her and she ignored them

    “It had been two years since Charlotte had disappeared and one year since the New York Police had found her dead. We still don’t know how she died, Renee refused to have an autopsy done on her. Frugal woman. I couldn’t live in our house anymore, too many memories.

    I went over to mum and dad’s house one day and placed a map of the states on the huge cork board that mum used for her work. I threw darts at it until a dart landed on a small town.

    I went to find mum to let her know what I was going to be doing, I found her in the sitting room knitting a little jumper. She did this a lot, knitting tiny jumpers in all different colours. I sat down next to her.

    “Hi mum, I am going to move away from here. There are too many memories of my life with Charlotte. I did a basic lucky dip and the dart landed on a town in Washington State called Forks. It looks like there will be nothing there to remind me of Charlotte,” I told her, remembering Charlottes long blonde hair and light blue eyes. God, I missed her, I always hoped her death was quick and painless.”

    Thank you again for doing this. Did you ever know that you’re my hero?

    • I could critique the hell out of that… For starters, there’s no blonde haired blue eyed women in small towns? Since any of them would do I’d imagine that they all have to share that feature. Also “I always hoped her death would be quick and painless,” Seriously? Who hopes that for their spouse? I’d imagine that people hope their spouse lives forever.

      This is as much a curse as it is a blessing.

      • The best part? The blonde blue eyed beauty? Turns out she is naturally brunette and brown eyed. (spoiler: She’s Bella’s twin) Somehow he didn’t notice that she was wearing contacts and that the carpet didn’t match the drapes.

        • Oh dear god…

  7. I love you comments but it’s too fucking painful to read the original story. Was there any thought at all put into or the slightest research done? I had a look on the authors page funny thing is she is a beta. How the fuck is she editing other people’s stories when hers is full of mistakes. I am not even going to get into the religious part of this story.
    But anyways, thank you for making me laugh after such a shitty day this brightened it up a little.
    Can’t wait to read the next part.

    • I’m sorry your day was shitty but at least it gave me the opportunity to make it better. This fic is a hot mess and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that if it’s not a parody I’m seriously concerned about the mental wellbeing of the author.

  8. I am so, so sorry that you ever started this painful endeavor. I’m even sorrier that this painful endeavor ever took up server space in any but a hell dimension. The only thing that made this even partially bearable for me was your commentary…the commentary I imagine you fought hard and long to achieve while you were also fighting to keep from gouging your eyes out and setting fire to your screen.

    • I’m made of pretty hearty stuff, I can handle it. I’m not saying anything about not complaining the whole time, though.

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