God dammit. This clip on tie is not staying put at all. It’s alright, don’t get caught up in the details. Just try to enjoy the experience. I mean, a chick asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance. That’s pretty awesome. Sure, she’s a little bit pudgy and she has terrifying braces, but she’s a girl. That’s what’s important. My friend Neil didn’t even get asked. He’s here with his f*ckin’ cousin. That’s just pathetic. At least I’m better off than him. I’m nervous, though. Really nervous. Who the f*ck is Sadie Hawkins, anyway? Is she just some chick who asked dudes out all the time? I don’t get it. She sounds like a floozy whore to me. Okay, we’re signed in with my geometry teacher who’s running the door. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked about our homework assignment. Business is business and pleasure is pleasure. I’ll remember that for the next dance. Let’s see what’s going on in the gym.
Hmm. They did a decent job with the decorations. I mean, it’s no playboy mansion christmas party, but it’s adequate. It’s nice that they’re calling us "Stars of the Future", like they have hope in us. What are they thinking? Half of the people at this school are complete dumbasses. They’re gonna grow up to be psycho junkies, and they’re probably going to kill the other half of us. We have no hope. We’re not going to be the stars of anything. Maybe we’ll be the stars of making methlabs in our garages, but that’s it. Still, it was a nice gesture, though. I’m gonna hit up the snack table real quick before my date cleans the place out. Let’s see what they’ve got here: cookies, some cupcakes, Shasta soda and some kind of red punch. Well, you can’t go wrong with a cookie and some punch. Maybe it’ll calm my nerves a little. I’m shaking like a leaf. I’ll get a little punch in me, and a little bit of cookie, and then I’ll be golden. I’ve been practicing my dance moves, and I think I’m really going to make a good impression on the—–
God dammit. I f*cking knew I was going to spill punch all over myself. Okay, don’t panic. Just try to relax. Maybe I can just pass this off like it’s part of my suit. Maybe people will think I’m a coach and my team just won the big game and dumped gatorade all over me. Maybe nobody will notice. Dammit, it looks like I got my throat slit and I have really watery blood. Shitballs. Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. It’s really dark in here. I doubt anyone will even notice.
Well, everyone’s pointing and laughing at me. It’s probably not about the punch, though. It’s probably something else about me that they find amusing. I won’t worry about it. Oh, my date is in line for pictures. This is definitely going to be a terrible photo. I’m less photogenic than Larry King. This is going to be brutal. Why do I have to decide on what overpriced picture package I’m going to buy before I even take the picture? I guess I’ll just go with the cheap one. I doubt the fat date and I are going to want to remember this night anyway. Okay, we’re up. Let’s just get this over with.
Alright. That’s not too bad. You can hardly see my punch stain. Whatever. Hmm. My date is trying to say something to me, but it’s too loud to hear her, and I can’t read her lips because the f*cking glare of of her metalmouth is blinding me. Oh, she’s doing a dancing motion. She must want to dance. Well, I was planning on trying to avoid this the whole night, but I guess since I’m at a school dance it was pretty much inevitable. Okay, just remember what mom taught you: don’t step on her toes, stick to the beat, and try to make casual conversation and eye contact. Also, remember what dad told you: don’t, under any circumstances, get a boner. Okay, now is a good time to go. It’s a fast song. The dance floor is pretty crowded. I’ll just get her out there, hop around a little bit, and that’ll be that. No problem—aww, shit. Are you kidding me?! They decide to play that Kelly Clarkson Break Away song now?
F*ck. Alright, fine. It looks like I’m slow dancing. This won’t be a problem. I know how to do this. You just have to—–woah. My date is really hugging up to me tight. Something weird is going on. I think her belly fat is rubbing up against my penis. Hmm. If she continues to do that, it could potentially cause me to get a—-oh, shit. I’m totally getting a boner. No no no no no no no no no. Not now. Not at the dance. Not while I’m dancing with a fat chick. Please, no. Please GOD no. Okay, okay okay. Think of non-attractive things:
SHIT! This is not working! How f*cking long is this goddamn song! This is all your fault, Kelly Clarkson! I’ll never forgive you for this! NEVER!!!!!!!