Dear Frank,

So I can understand why you wanted me to tell you about V.C. Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic, because you probably have the same memories I do of seeing other girls read that book in elementary school and talk about how it was sooooo sexy but they wouldn’t tell you what it was about when you asked them at lunch because they were stupid bitches who can suck it. I mean, I’m assuming that’s what it was like for you. But now, having read the damn thing, I wish I could travel back in time and tell little Liz that she really wasn’t missing out on anything. Because, ugh. Ugh, this book. Ugh. Read the rest of this entry →