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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Tuesday, September 29   >>

MOVIE FAIL: ANNA WINTOUR, ON YOUR KNEES, THE TAINT NEEDS SOME LOVIN'



WOW. To be THAT wrapped up and self-important about something so arbitrary and completely vapid as fashion is a tremendous crime on humanity. It shouldn't even be called "The September Issue." It should be called "How To Completely Rip-off Film Goers and Address Absolutely Nothing About the Culture We Breed and Live In."

If there's anything to learn from said shitty doc, it's that Wintour is a living example of how feminism can get it so, so wrong. YEAH I FUCKING SAID IT, ALRIGHT?

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No, seriously, I'd never felt that ripped off. Not since Jimmy Eat World, '05.

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Disclosure: This was supposed to be published on 9/14, but then I had an inner fallout, to which I barely recovered from. Nothing extreme like cutting myself or doing drugs or road tripping on a wheel barrow, but something for me to realize that, perhaps (JUST PERHAPS) we might all need a little time away from this entire fucking farce and perhaps (JUST PERHAPS) discover something a little more legitimate than the sport cars, drugs, tattoos (both literal and proverbial), and promiscuous sex that most (but not I) hide behind. I was just hiding from myself.

That's right, folks -- even I'm too much for myself. GodDAMN, I'm fucking awesome.