Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Prom Night Bites (Primadonnas Prevail)

Though I was forged in the dark recesses of the abyss long before time knew which way to flow, I have only come to take on physical form for 18 of your human years. As a sane entity of the cosmos, I was reticent to take part in the barbaric rituals native to American culture. One of these rituals, a mating dance, known in your language as "prom", is particularly vulgar, so much so that I was content in filling my Saturday night with hour long endeavors of commanding and conquering n00bs on the Xbox as opposed to prom's archaic entertainment. However, beseeched by a potent young female, I ventured deep into a lair that is nothing but a shrine to the profane and adolescent.

Despite its faults, I assumed that I could at least savor some primal pleasure from a night of juvenile delinquency and debauchery. How wrong I was.

Prom is a really boring orgy pulsing with people too pussy to just fuck in public.

The dance floor was unreasonably packed. So congested was the throbbing mass that a dude felt me up telling me how soft my hair was tiffany.

And I am so sick of grinding. My generation really needs to get a new dance move besides pretending to fuck a woman in the ass.

Here are some variations of grinding:
"The Pony"- Bend the girl over and grab her hair, as if the reins on a horse. Flail the free hand wildly above your head, shouting Yee-hah! Pound your dick against her ass.

"Sneaking a Snatch"- Grab the girl's hips and gyrate to together. When she looks back at you, glide the hand opposite the side she is looking and grab her snatch. Fiercely. This is important. She will be so surprised by the move that she will be too embarrassed to fight it off. Pound your dick against her ass.

"Moment of Clarity"- Stand befuddled in a crowd of humping teenagers and come to the terrible conclusion that this is exactly what Babylon looked like before God smote it off the face of the earth. Shed a tear. Pound your dick against her ass.

The least the DJ could do is play some music that doesn't make me wish for a hearing impairment. Now I'm not asking for Bach, or some Moonlight Sonata here. I get that there is a place for some Interpol and some Fucking Champs, and that it is not the place where people go to dance. However, I can't dance to music that sounds like it was written by an autistic child with a Casio that just learned what a double entendre was.

Some of the lyrics do seem reasonable as a double entendre. For example, the repeated refrain of "hot pocket rocket" obviously alludes to the male phallus, as opposed to a Jim Gaffigan comedy routine. He likes his Hot Pockets.

Laffy Taffy, although a tasty, sugary stretch, can indeed be perceived as a metaphor for the female buttocks.

However, what the fuck does "chicken noodle soup, with the soup on the side" mean? How is that sexual in any fucking context? Maybe if they said something like, "you got your big chicken in my soup," or, "I love it when you soup all over me." I can understand that. But they want the soup on the side…on the side…

One or two fun songs were played, but they were not enough to distract my imagination away from turning that writhing mass of polyester into a flaming hellscape with the strike of a match.

If I had not had the good company of my friends, I would have unleashed a dark carnivale on that dance floor. My ass would be all over the news, my mural of flesh, bones, and bloodshed given a gallery on every TV screen. Fortunately, my sanity is much more resilient than my impulse, and we are all spared the teenage holocaust.

Besides, who would be so pathetic as to tear up a prom? It's far too boring to dignify with a slaughter fest of that magnitude.

Now a spelling bee…that would be something of killing spree…hope they don't irritate me…or they might have to pay a mortal fee.

The fee of a Wii.

Damn I want one. I hear they provide an accurate simulation of bowling for those of us without the athleticism necessary to take part in such an intense sport.

No comments: