Elayne's Prom Was Magical

From Elayne:

I too must share MY prom story.

Let me set the stage: I attended an all-girl's prep school in Connecticut (omitted for obvious purposes). Enough said?

Most of my classmates/friends were of the old Yankee WASP stock, but they admitted the handful of Jews and Catholics so as to look inclusive. For the most part we all got on well, but there was a small clique of girls that were considered "trouble" - usually in the form of witty sarcasm and teasing of the less fortunate, mouthing off to teachers, the random smoking of cigarettes in the bathroom, and random criminal activity in the forms of shoplifting and fake IDs. I longed to be a part of this clique and achieved a middle-management position once I proved I could hang by enduring endless hours of hazing during school which culminated into a violent verbal beating a party in the woods one weekend. I did not cry.

I was cool with the position I achieved since moving any higher could have brought the wrath of teachers, parents, and worse from the clique. My lot in life is middle management to this day and there's definitely a strategy that I will share in a more relevant post.

Anyway, this group loved the idea of prom which meant a lot of liquor, weed, hallucinogenic mushrooms and empty homes. We were all dating or screwing guys from other prep schools so we had to plan the proper after-prom party which was decided should be at a friend’s lake house. We were all preppie, hippie chicks, so we had to be a cool place that allowed for skinny dipping and lack of parents. Don't ask me now, but back then it was a fucking awesome idea.

Backtrack - I decided I had to show up and show out to this prom so I had my dress made. Back then, Princess Di was hot, if and you remember the 80's, puffy shit was everywhere. So, my dress was a toned down version of Princess Di's wedding dress. I thought I was a goddess in it. I actually looked like Mrs. Staypuff.

So, the night of prom, the various shenanigans and debauchery are in progress - bottles of brown liquor in purses are being shared, heavy make outs on the dance floor, girl fights, etc. Our prom theme was Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight", which my mother thought was "disgraceful" since he mentions having sex in the song. If she only knew...

So prom ends and we pour out into the cars. To this day, I can't believe a SWAT team did not descend upon the event. Someone rented a van for the trip to the lake house. On the way there, the head bitch of this clique is getting piss drunk and very LOUD. She's going off on everyone, her date, best friend, etc. It's on and it's ugly. We get to the lake house and she's just relentless, screaming, throwing stuff, etc. I had it and decided as drunk as I was, she needed an ass whooping. This story is almost over.

We move outside and we start yelling. I am telling her what I had wanted to say for a long time peppered with as many expletives I could remember in my slurry state. Before I knew it, she caught me with a roundhouse that caused me to lose my balance and fall on top of a table. I got up - and without ever punching anyone - upper cut her in the lower gut with a ferocity and emotion only seen in Schwarzenegger movies. The force of the blow took me down again. She then stood over me and my Princess Di confection and proceeded to projectile vomit all over me and my puffy, expensive dress. At this point, the crowd is cheering us on. I think most of the guys were hoping there was going to be kissing, but the vomit ruined the moment.

She then picked me up and carried me to the lake. I was thrown over the dock and landed on the top of a plastic canoe, rolled off and into the water. My dress puffed up around me like a large life raft. The sleeves filled with water and basically, I started to sink like a big white anchor. All I could do was rip the dress off of me before I drowned. It was not pretty. Mad as hell, I climbed out onto the dock in my wet pantyhose and bra and wrapped what was left of Di around me like a towel.

My boyfriend was so turned on by the whole display, that he tackled me on the lawn and ejaculated on my left leg like a dog.

A Letter to those of Faith

I came across a blog today as I was looking for an image to put on the "Jesus Can Suck My Balls" t-shirt I'm making. You can check the blog out here if you think Jesus is the Son of GOD or if, like me, you simply enjoy mocking the (mentally) infirm.

The Immaculate Blow Job

At any rate, after reading a few of the comments from one particular post about how terrible it is that people make pictures of jesus christ laughing I felt compelled to post the following:

This is ridiculous. It's like you're debating whether Santa gets dirty going down the chimney.

There is no Jesus. There is no god. You cling to a belief for which there is zero evidence because you fear a world without him and because you desperately want your meaningless life to have some eternal value.

Let's face it, none of us really mean anything to 99.9999999% of the world’s population. You have your family of origin and your family of creation. You're lucky if you have a good relationship with the former and unforgivably foolish if you don't with the latter.

Religion teaches us that god is angry, jealous, and vengeful. It teaches us to hate those who believe differently and to wage war against them. It teaches us to reject our loved ones if they fail to believe as we believe. It destroys nations, it destroys families, and it destroys people's lives.

And yet you place your heads in the sand refuse to see the truth beyond what you so desperately desire to be true. You are incapable of applying to religion the same logic you use in all other aspects of your lives.

If your god is real, why do the "wicked" persistently prosper? Why do the "righteous" consistently suffer tragedy and pain? If god can save the lives of the righteous why doesn't he? Why does he kill so indiscriminately? Why does he make people gay but them tell them they must not do that which fulfills the emotionally, spiritually, and physically?

Why does your god allow you to bomb abortion clinics and drag gay men behind trucks and burn crosses on the lawns of 'unbelievers' and burn pagans at the stake and reject the poor and the uneducated and those of other races in this country?

Your lives are meaningless with god. As an ignorant follower of the christian faith I constantly struggled with my human nature--nature dictated by hundreds of millions of years of evolution--I was constantly a victim of my own humanity and the guilt that resulted whenever I engaged in some small thing outlawed by your worthless, impotent, and irrelevant god. I married an individual with whom I had little in common after a short engagement because god is angry when we have sex before marriage.

For 8 years of that marriage I taught my children to fight their inner nature...that they must fit a specific mold dictated by a non-existent being more than 2000 years ago. A mold that is anathema to human happiness, acceptance, and love, despite what you have so foolishly accepted as truth.

It has been three years now since I rejected my faith. Because of this, my relationship with my parents is strained almost to the limit. They simply cannot accept the choice I have made and so we have little interaction. I feel rejected by them, ashamed of their blind faith, and angered by the beliefs that cause them to weep at night. My in-laws feel as though I have corrupted their child. Many of my siblings rarely talk to me anymore.

And yet my life is infinitely better. My income has quadrupled. I have 5 beautiful, amazing, loving, happy, wonderful children—atheists all. I live in a new, large, single-family home. My relationship with my spouse is better. I have more friends. I am happier because I don’t judge others against a ridiculous standard that has no relevance in the modern world. I am fulfilled for the first time in my life. I provide more service to others, not because I am required by a fickle god, but because it brings me joy. I can accept and befriend those with different philosophical ideals whether those differences are about sexuality, politics, religion, race, economics, or any other delineator. I can look at a person and see their innate value, their capacity for love and joy and pleasure—and at the same time their capacity for hate and sorrow and pain—and I’m compelled by my conscience and my love for humanity to help them achieve the former.

You are all fools for believing what you do. You’re cattle and as such you’re dangerous. You elected (as did I) Bush as President twice and he has destroyed much of what was great about America. You would elect John McCain now simply because he panders to your voting bloc. You’re incapable of independent, logical thought and as such your lives, that wonderful and amazing gift, will be wasted perpetually failing to achieve an eternal reward that doesn’t exist.

I pity you.

Sadly, as I was typing in that retarded word they make you type I noticed that the author of the blog requires that he approve all comments before they appear. Which means that the masterpiece above will never reach it's intended recipients. And so I've posted it here for your enjoyment.

May the Flying Spaghetti Monster touch you with His Noodly Appendage.

-Walter

American Security Cult Brands Students From MIT as Terrorists at Large

Not only are the raging, slackjawed criminal goons at the TSA now in charge of an ID program to credential people so they can be allowed near a ship or a pier, they’re using it to randomly brand students as terrorists at large - records which will go into permanent files that no one can see or ask to inspect without being branded an enemy combatant and bayoneted to death on the spot.

Already a batch of kids have been branded terrorists at large by the drooling goons at TSA and, to their peril, they’re pushing back. To go near piers and boats, starting this October you will need a Transportation Worker Identification Credential, a Naziffic-sounding piece of fucking fascist identity instrumentation.

Although the TSA is beating up hapless foreign students now, soon we’ll all be forced to beg for one of these credentials if we want to take the ferry to work. They’re only $132. A bargain at twice the price. Offer to lick the TSA agent’s genitals or hand him $500, and it might take less than a year to process.

Make no mistake, the TSA’s primary directive is to inflict a scheme on the US in which everyone has to have explicit permission for inter-national travel and intra-country movement from the TSA. Fences everywhere; check points everywhere; a permit for every activity under the sun required under pain of being labelled an enemy combatant.

Do take time to read the New York Times story. It’s obvious the entire marine credentialing system is another insane exercise in standardless discretion. A drooling, fuckwitted TSA goon can label you a terrorist, deny you access to the waterfront, marine transportation and, if that’s your work, your means of earning a living. Appeal? Good fucking luck, asshole.

All you’ll get are Sieg Heils and Shut the Fuck Ups from the wannabee stormtroopers at the TSA. Get used to it, assholes: from here on out, you better love life at the point of a bayonet, because that’s what life is all about in the USA. Problems, here? Problems, friend? Maybe you need to climb down on the floor with your hands behind your back so we can safely talk to you about your hatred of America and its security institutions. Your papers! Your papers! You want the ferry, we need to see the papers! Maybe you need to kiss the bayonet to understand, terrorist dog! No papers! No boat for you!

(Src: http://cynicsparty.com/2008/05/13/american-security-cult-brands-students-from-mit-as-terrorists-at-large/)

Suck it, Bitch

Why MY Prom Was Better Than the Dude's

So I was going to post this as a comment to The Dude's post below but as I wrote it the thing got longer and longer and I realized that no one was going to read it anyway unless I posted it on the main page. This is because you guys are all fickle, cocksucking, asstards and you have no sense of loyalty or honor (but The Dude and I love you anyway, just the way you are, you dirty, dirty slut).

And so without further ado:

I hated high school. I was that kid who always slept through class and drove the teachers crazy. In fact towards the end of my senior year I basically dropped all pretense and started coming to school in pajamas with a pillow under my arm (remind me to tell you about water wars, the frogs, the parking permits, and the girls' locker room after one particularly exciting football game).

I had this one teacher who got so sick of me that he used to walk in the class room and kick me out just because he was in a bad mood. I was okay with that because I had this friend with bennies that I'd get to bail on her class too and we'd jump in my 1983 Datsun Sentra and drive out to the vacant field down the road to have sex. Which brings me to the point of my post. Because as much as I hated high school, what I DIDN'T hate was high school sex (in fact, the only thing better than high school sex is whatever sex I’m having right NOW). After MY senior prom (theme: "U Can't Touch This"):

Seirously, you can't touch this.

...I banged my date for 4 straight hours at my buddy's house in his Dad's bed. It was a king and we used every inch of the extra space...in addition to the dresser and the chair and the bathroom counter top and most of the walls and much of the floor.

Interesting sidebar: whenever this chick had an orgasm she passed out and stopped breathing. When I flew out and stayed with her for her prom --she lived several hundred miles away-- we went out one night in her Chevy Blazer to a hill overlooking the city so we could bang in the back seat like goddamned minks without her parents walking in on us. Apparently I was almost as masterful then in the performance of my myriad and mind-blowing sexual techniques as I am now and she quickly reached orgasm.

Yes, ladies, it's about like that.

Then she stopped breathing.

After a few seconds, when she was persistently unresponsive, I realized I had a serious problem on my hands. There I was, lying in the back seat with a naked, underage, not-breathing chick I barely knew (we met in South Padre Island during spring break), in a strange city, in a very southern state (where they don’t take kindly to fornicators and adulterers),

"We don't take kindly to your kind around here..."

...with no concept of where I was or how to get back to her house. I was pretty sure that I had killed her and that I was going to jail for the rest of my life. And I’m not talking about one of those white-collar places where you get decent food and lots of free-time and conjugal visits and shit, I’m talking about a federal, pound-me-in-the-ass prison where some former NFL defensive lineman with a name like Bubba or Tiny...

...or maybe just call him Daddy.

...and a 16 inch cock the diameter of a soup can who’s in for raping and strangling to death the kicker on his former team makes me his bitch and I never, ever have strain to take a dump ever again...it just kinda falls out.

After I finished pissing myself, I assessed the situation and realized that I had to do something. Running was the first thing that came to mind but in a rare flash of insight I suddenly remembered, years before in Boy Scouts, orally molesting a dummy when I was supposed to be learning CPR. I leapt into action, plugged the girl's nose, clamped my mouth over hers and began some retarded hybrid of CPR and a French kiss. It was all very arousing. I was as hard as a diamond in an ice storm. After a couple of seconds of this she came to; we fucked again...I made sure I was the only one to get off.

Anywho, back to prom. After our 4 hour bang-fest we went downstairs to find that one of the chicks who had gone to prom with a buddy of mine was passed out topless on the couch. She was surrounded by a group of dudes (and chicks) standing over her taking pictures and laughing. Unlike the dude I DID get to see them later and they were magnificent. Don’t ask me how old the chick was because I’m not going to jail.

Prom Sucks

Not me. I was hotter than that and my date was shorter.

I need a trophy. I'll have to figure out how to win something so I can get a big trophy. My wife has a big trophy from when she was in a beauty pageant in high school and I'm jealous. Trophies create a sense of self-worth and I need affirmation to be happy. When I won "Mr XX" (XX being the name of my high school) in 1989 they didn't give out a trophy. I think I got free tickets to prom and a limousine ride, but I didn't like my date very much so the whole thing was kind of wasted. I took this girl that I barely knew because I'd broken up with my girlfriend Linda only a few weeks before prom and had to find a date on short notice and by that point all the hot ones were taken. The girl I ended up taking was from a different high school. Linda was from my high school but she wasn't very smart and that was the cause of the end of our love. I was reading this book called "Cultural Literacy" at the time and it said that for any person to be culturally literate they had to know a ton of key facts, figures and dates (like, for example, who is Ronald Reagan, who are the New York Yankees, what is the Brady Bunch, etc) that comprise the bulk of the fabric of American society. The book of course was arguing that people don't know the stuff anymore and so we're going to hell in a handbasket, oh the youth of today, sex drugs and rock n roll, etc. The sky is always falling. The book had seven dates in it that it claimed were indispensable for people to know: 1066, 1492, 1776, 1861-65, 1914-18, 1939-45 and 1984. I'd dated Linda for a few months and had begun to realize she might not be the sharpest tack in the bunch when she told me her favorite artist was Paula Abdul (who, when she first told me this, I thought it was a guy named "Paul Abdul" - this was 1989 and it was all new back then). So I went to Linda and said "Do you know the significance of any of these dates?" and she didn't know one of them. Not one. I could totally understand not knowing 1066, and 1984 was kind of a trick question, but to not know 1492? I was floored. The horror. I couldn't do it anymore but held out as long as I could until I was absolutely certain. A couple of days later we were standing in the main hall/entrance area to the school during lunch and I told her it was over. "It's not you, it's me" I said (I used that one all through college. It worked pretty well). "What about prom?" she said. "I think prom is out," I said. She yelled something and threw an object at me that was small and heavy but kind of soft and then ran away. I think she was crying. I can't remember if I ever talked to her after that or not. I probably did but I don't remember it. I picked up the thing she'd thrown at me when she ran off and it was a brownie. I was glad I'd called it off with Linda until the night of prom when I showed up to my date's house and she looked so bad I just couldn't believe it. I've never been into big make-up and tricked-out hair, caring more for the natural look, and this girl looked liked Tammy Faye Bakker as far as I was concerned (god rest her soul). It was the 80's so it wasn't fair to expect anything else, but I still wasn't into it. So we took photos, which I never saw since digital cameras hadn't been invented, and I took her to prom. We left a little early and I took her home really early. We made out in the car for half an hour or so but I wasn't very interested. The next morning I didn't call her and the day after that also. She went to a different school and that was back in the days without email, cell phones and texting, and girls weren't supposed to call boys as far as my mom was concerned, so I just didn't call her and we literally never spoke again. Not once. I graduated shortly thereafter and left for college and forgot her name. Now I will never find her again because you can't do a Google search without a name. I tried "Girl at prom 1989 Maryland" once but it turned up so many hits that I figured it wasn't worth it. Plus there weren't very many pictures and I need pictures. I'm a very visual person. I was already married and my wife was hotter than that girl on my wife's ugliest day and that girl's best so the whole thing was really just pointless. I'm pretty sure the girl was Jewish so I could have added the word "Jew" to narrow the search results but it wasn't worth trying again. I went and checked ESPN.com instead. When I won the Mr. XX pageant I would have been better off if if they'd have just given me a trophy.

Today's YouTube Moment

Fantastic

She's Gonna End Up Naked On the Internet (and thank God for that)