Twilight Part 3a

So I've already blogged more than enough on why Twilight should not be considered good literature, why it is immoral, and why Edward Cullen is not the ideal gentleman. Now I'm going to delve just a bit into my personal experiences on fighting against Meyer's literary atrocity.
Almost a whole year ago, back when the Twilight craze was still getting into its full swing, I posted many discussions on community networking sites, trying to clear up what the craze was exactly and why every woman seemed to be a part of it. After a few pages of posts, I judged that what was happening was not good. I began to speak out against Stephenie Meyer, her book, and her characters, saying they were actively twisting minds of young females into believing that all men unlike Edward cannot be considered gentlemen, therefore neither date- nor marriage-worthy. That's when the word jealousy started to be used to attack my position (and to this day still is, by George). While my arguments against such a claim were substantial, I decided that I needed to withdraw and establish a firmer argument before retouching the still larval subject.
This is when I decided I should read the darn book already. Seeing as I was a very *ahem* busy person, I never had the time. Fangirls continued to criticize my dissent. Luckily enough, they all used basically the same argument over and over, worded slightly differently, with more or less spelling errors. It was always quite weak, fallible, and managed to only challenge established principle and empirical fact. But for all my debate prowess, I still did not have an intricate knowledge of the published works I had so readily put on trial. So one day, when I was sick from school and could barely move around, I spotted a paperback copy of Twilight at the end of my couch. I reluctantly reached over and began to read it.
The text was simple, to say the least. In my honest opinion, it lacked sense of scene, continuity, a well-structured plot, and complex characters. The narration really ticked me off. I myself have no interest in the abject tangents of some teenage girl's convoluted mind. I often asked myself, "Why am I reading this?" only to get the reply, "So you know it's as stupid as you thought." As I came to realize, I was wrong. It was even more stupid than I had imagined. In fact, while I was reading it, I felt an ache slowly rising from my tract.
Suffice to say, I never finished it. I had gotten to chapter 13 before my body decided "That's it, I am emptying the taint for my own good." I staggered hastily to the bathroom and vomited a horrible mess. I washed up and returned to the couch to find the book with its covers sprawled out, saving the place I was forced to stop. I gave it a hellish glare and cast it back to the dusty corner I pulled it out of. And there it will stay.