There’s three things I remember from graduation: Nobody clapped when I got my diploma, I spent the whole ceremony talking to this hot girl whom I had never seen before or since, and the valedictorian speech was terrible.
Everything you need to know about giving a serviceable, but boring, valedictorian speech can be summed up like this: Don’t use cliches, keep it short, don’t talk about how you’re the future, and don’t tell stories about how a teacher touched you. Nobody cares.
Although Holy Taco’s readership is filled with valedictorians, all funnier, better looking, and more intelligent than I am, I thought I’d give those about to give their speech some pointers on making it awesome.
What you want to do in the short amount of time everyone is paying attention to you is shock the shit out of them.
Talk about the time you planned on raping and murdering the captain of the cheerleading squad, and how you wanted to recycle her skin into tiny commemorative baseball caps. Make sure you detail your plan thoroughly so they know you’re not joking.
As an added bonus, don’t forget to leave the door open on this plan when you’re finished. There’s no reason you can’t continue to keep these people on their toes.
Talk about how the school newspaper is the planet’s last bastion of journalism, and then say something like “You know, I just happen to have a copy right here …”
Then take the paper and show it off like you’re really proud to be holding it. When finished, place the paper on stage, remove your robe, and take a dump on it. Then invite everyone on stage to join you. They’ll probably be too shy, but know that in their mind, they’re taking a shit on that newspaper with you.
If you’re the valedictorian, it’s safe to assume you’re probably one of the popular kids. So. It’s not likely you’ll have a bully you’ll want to single out and remind them of what a dickhole they are … but if you do, talk about how they used to make you feel, and then start rocking back and forth like Mick Foley used to when he was Mankind.
For added effect, start ripping out your hair and screaming incomprehensibly about the dark stain the bully left on your soul. If you’re lucky, someone will escort you off stage and end the ceremony early, which really should be your goal to begin with.
At this point, you should be good to go, but let’s say my advice hasn’t given you some pep in your step. I should probably give you something to work with then, right? Right.
So, if you’re stumped, use this:
To The Class of 2011:
Ten years from now, a quarter of you will get together in a shitty bar for a reunion. Only some of you will be comfortable. The rest will spend their night trying to impress people whose opinion doesn’t matter, and never did.
I won’t be there. I will be at home. My porn star spouse will be blowing me while I watch a 72 year-old Jay Leno attempt to persuade a death panel that he shouldn’t be euthanized. Jay’s argument? The Tonight Show is still huge in its core demographic: Victims of Alzheimer’s.
In between the simultaneous joy of orgasm and watching Jay Leno put to death on national television, I’m going to think about these sad and pathetic people at that bar, and I’m going to laugh.
I’m going to laugh because high school was a joke. A bad one filled with stupid kids, underpaid teachers, and a rigid schedule of classes and assignments that didn’t serve any purpose other than to assure Republicans that their subjective and ineffective standards of measuring success were met.
Looking out at all of you today, huddled together for the first time and pretending we’re some kind of unit, when half of you called me a fag and the other half have no idea who I am, I smile knowing that I’ll never see any of you again.