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Robyn Schneider

From Encyclopedia Dramatica

Robyn Pre-op.

Robyn Schneider: (rŏb' ĭn- shnī' dər) or (kŭnt)
n. Vulgar Slang

A transexual, Satan-worshipping woman who writes typical teen novel shlock about preppy East Coast rich kids who feel no one understands them, and tries way too hard to write the next Catcher in the Rye or Perks of Being a Wallflower.
No one anyone cares about, except 16-year-old girls who have nothing better to do than live life vicariously through other people they find on the Internets.
Offensive.
1. Used as a disparaging term for young writers (especially under the age of 21) who feel the world “owes them” in some way.
2. Used as a disparaging term for a person one dislikes or finds extremely disagreeable.

Not to be mistaken with a Kaavya Viswanathan, whom the Robyn Schneider is unhealthily obsessed with and has fantasy masturbation sessions about.

1 Identification in the wild
2 Surviving a Robyn Schneider attack
3 Robyn Schneiders in History
4 Robyn Loves Trolls

Identification in the wild

Most Robyn Schneiders are easily identified by their advance stages of Internet disease. The Robyn Schneider will post ad nauseum in their livejournal or MySpace (or anywhere else that 16-year-old girls might lick its rancid pu55y in worship) about how fabulous it thinks it is when really it’s just boring and would do well to get shit-faced and gang tentacle-raped at a frat party. At least then it wouldn’t be as boring. These topics combined with camwhoring and name-dropping can help accurately identify a Robyn Schneider.

While the Robyn Schneider once was exclusively caged in a California science lab, it escaped several years ago, whereupon it got a sex change via the dark power of its lord and master, Beelzebub. There have been recent reports of the creature being spotted in your mom’s bedroom but reports have not been confirmed.

The easiest way to identify a Robyn Schneider is to listen for its mating call, "Why should I have to wait years to get a book deal? YAWP!"

Where Robyn Schneider Worships

Surviving a Robyn Schneider attack

If you find yourself face-to-face with this creature, remember these three easy steps and you will survive:

First, do not say “Columbia isn’t an Ivy League College”, “Your book has pink on it”, or quote any Shakespeare within a five mile radius or you WILL have your face gnawed off by the Robyn Schneider's huge teeth. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Next, if you have designer sunglasses, handbags, or shoes on you, toss them as far away as possible. This will give you a decent distraction while the creature chases after them. If you are the majority of the population who thinks spending more than $10 on a pair of sunglasses is insane, point behind the Robyn Schneider and shout, “What on earth is that?!”
Finally, if you are a woman, strip naked. When the creature turns around, you will appear invisible, as it's never seen a real woman in its life. If you are a man, also strip naked. The creature will run in fear of the memory of once having a penis. This is your best bet to survive an attack.

Robyn Schneiders in History

On April 12th, 2006 at 6:12 pm, (robbiewriter) was launched into emo cuntbag infamy. Below are selections from the post, which was put on private the next day, which have helped with the identification of Robyn Schneiders:

I wonder when people stopped rooting for me.

I'm ridiculous, just another marketing scheme from a big publisher who wants a cute little teenager to slap on the back cover of a poorly-written YA.

I speak in onions: layers of irony and teen slang.

I'm going to be famous for saying "Why should I have to wait years to get a book deal?"

The first line of the interview, "Quite frankly, Robyn Schneider scares the crap out of me."

To my peers, I'm more wretched than Kaavya Viswanathan.

It's a great feeling, seeing the world's impression of me reduced to a shiny quote.

I want to believe that I won't be hated by this world.

I wasn't always like this. I was a never-been-kissed debate geek who had tried so hard for a 4.0 around a grueling schedule of reading and writing in all my free time, a failure at the highest honor roll, a girl who had no one to talk on the phone with after school.

The boy who I asked to prom committed suicide, and that summer, no one told me.

I put on the mascot suit at pep rallies, so I wouldn't have to sit on a bench next to my no friends and scream how happy I was.

I was in a serious head-on collision. My car was totaled, my spine misaligned (sic)

Robyn and two of her Satan-worshipping lackeys

I spent a long time bringing that book to my only real friends in high school, a group of mostly middle aged bibliophiles.

Signing with an agency is the only thing that got me through my first semester of college, my failed relationships, my professor who claimed I had accused him of sexually molesting boys in his office and now he was going to be fired, so I cried.

I was sexually molested by a pedophile drug addict.

The roommate problems started. That switchblade in her desk drawer, the nasty words we exchanged, the final threat to get out. I packed a backpack and became a campus hobo for a few weeks, sleeping on dorm lounge couches with my coat over me, showering when I could sneak past the girls who yelled hate at me, watchtowers at either side of the dorm corridor.