Pricetag a.k.a. Mom a.k.a. Margaret (mprice) wrote in badfic_quotes,
Pricetag a.k.a. Mom a.k.a. Margaret


I have never heard of this fandom. But I'm sure if I had, I would be horrified just by the summary alone. Amazingly, there is actually an overabundance of commas, making this a must share fic.

The musical talents of Jessica Simpson keep Orihime from insanity sometimes.
For the love of God, NO!

Orihimeunties her hair.
Um, okay.

She peels off high heels from her feet, now red from a day of being abused.
Wha...wha...what? Was it her feet or herself that was abused?

She unzips her stupid pinstripe pencil skirt,
Stupid skirt!*groan* Prepare for the laundry list.

strips her legs of nylons, tosses her jacket aside, unbuttons her white blouse and ditches the Victoria's Secret push-up without padding bra on the floor.
I really didn't need to know that much info on the bra, actually.

A matching thong is frowned at and stomped on vigorously on the floor
Finally, a realistic opinion of a thong!

in a moment of temporary insanity.
Sure, ruin my hopes.

A camisole, a pair of too-long sweatpants with no elastic in the waist (slutty but comfortable), (and no way of staying up!) socks with a hole in the toe.
Is this a fan fic or a mail order catalog?

She brushes her hair and lets it flutter around her, kinked and loose and a little bit ratty.
Yeah, yeah. I don't care, okay.

"I'm so sick of being uniform." she muses,
Is muse really the right word here? Just a thought.

picking over her CD collection and refusing CD after CD, before finally settling on a song by Jessica Simpson, "These Boots Were Made For Walking".
Was it on a CD? *groan* Gee, Jessica Simpson or Nancy Sinatra? Which one do I pick?

Granted, her social life would go beyond death should anyone find out, but she was willing to risk
Was she in danger of having a sudden mob of people appear out of nowhere?

Musical quality be damned: she wanted to enjoy herself without giving a shit what anyone else thought.
I kind of figured that out from her wardrobe.

Jumping over the couch, she scored herself some ice cream and licked it off her spoon as she danced to the song, bumping her hips and bouncing her shoulders.
Where did this ice cream magically appear from?

This world was one she hadn't been to in awhile, a world without staples and forms and bosses and stupid pinstripe skirts and Victoria's Secret push up without padding bras and matching thongs to stomp upon vigorously.
A world without clothes! Woo Hoo!

And she continues dancing to run on sentences long into the night. Ow, my poor brain.

Tags: bleach
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