I suppose it was only a matter of time after that Satanic statue was put up at that courthouse or whatever the fuck, but the story broke this week that you can now place your kids into the care of the Dark Lord. That’s right, After School Satan is now a thing. I would tell you more about it, but quite frankly I don’t really have it in me to click on 80% of what Metal Injection posts anymore. Less Corey Taylor, more quality sets at Saint Vitus plz.
Anyway, it’s hard to believe that the kiddos go back to school this month, but what’s even scarier is that I could have been on that boat. It’s looking I’m looking going to be deferring my law acceptance for a year so that I can do some soul searching; yano, doing yoga on the beach and shit. Quite frankly, I’ve been on the receiving end of much learnz in my years and I’m just not ready to return to that life yet. On a scale of 1-10, how much do you think I’ll regret this? 3? 13? Potato? Let me know down below.
In the meantime, for those of you that are currently dying a painful death with your ma at your local Office Max, here are some after school specials taken right from my life just for you. And even if you’re not, still read on and brace yourself for a good laugh at my expense. While we’re at it, we might as well just call these episodes one and two because I have a concerning amount of crazy tales from when I was school gal. Let’s start when I was fifteen and shit got really real.
The Baby & Baby Arm Horror
I had always been picked on. In elementary school I was a chub nugget, in middle school I was ugly as sin, and in high school I was just a fucking weirdo. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but freshman year someone literally started a rumor that I masturbated with a crucifix. Sophomore year, my uniform consisted of Vans covered in duct tape and red stars, shredded jeans with a giant hole in the crotch, a dirty bandana, and a push up bra/heavy eye pencil combo just to tie it all together.
Needless to say, I wasn’t the picture of athleticism, which didn’t exactly serve to my advantage in gym class. I remember a couple of times I fucked up at serving the volleyball so bad that even the teacher was pointing and laughing. It eventually got to the point where I just refused to participate. If the ball was kicked towards me in soccer I would just let it sit there, much to the rage of my choice teammates that took mistook a glorified pick-up game for the goddamned NFL.
We had just gotten back to classes after winter break and my mindset was particularly bleak. We had started the basketball unit and this chick in my class, Courtney (never trust anyone with this name), said something god awful to me. Funny enough, I can’t even remember what it was now, but at the time, it wouldn’t stop echoing in my mind and I straight up wanted to die.
But, in the period after in geometry, the tide started to turn. I sat next to my Tripp pants-wearing, Fabio-haired dream boy, “Bobby,” with whom I had been engaging in playful flirtation for weeks. He even let me wear his trench coat once. Swiggity Swooty, is it hot in here? Unfortunately, Bobby was already in a relationship with his Tripp pants-wearing dream girl (who, for the record, is now a blonde, Southern housewife because everything we think we know is a lie).
I guess since he couldn’t have me he thought he’d at least put in a good word. He dropped the bomb that his also hot and Fabio-haired older brother, “Chance,” had just broken things off with his long term girlfriend and that he had showed him my Facebook as a potential new pussy candidate, and you guise…Chance said I was PRETTY!!!! Omg, brb, texting the world the good newz 🙂 🙂 😉 ❤
Still, equally shocking to the fact that I made a senior boy’s dick excited was the fact that him and his girl had split. I watched them walk down the hallway arm in arm in matching Marilyn Manson shirts countless times on the way to English class, and they always seemed like one of the high school couples that would be together 4-Ever. Still, I couldn’t help but get excited when I cut the face of her and pasted on mine. Little did I know, when Bobby gave me big bro’s number to safely stash away in my Razr, my life was about to go from 0 to Amanda Bynes real quick.
That night, I sat shaking all over in bed as I texted this dude. To the tug of my underdeveloped heartstrings, we connected pretty fast and things got freaky even faster. I stayed up until 2:00 talking all sorts of craziness with him, ranging from the time he met his idol Rob Zombie to how he wanted to tie me up, set me on fire, and then put it out with his cum. But the craziest message of all was his last of the night.
Goodnight baby girl, I love you.
Friday rolled around, and Chance and I were desperate to see each other. I remember how bad my heart sank in band class when I read the text delivering the bad news: he had to stay home from school altogether today because he was going to be late, and one more lateness was going to lead to suspension. Chomping at the bit to see the love of my life, but knowing that my parents would sooner die than let me go out with Rob Zombie’s 18-year-old husky cousin, I knew I had to finesse some kind of plan. I got home at 3:00, my mother got home at 4:15, which meant that if I threw him out of my house by 4:00 I could safely have the greatest hour of life. Oh, and I did, but it was followed by the worst.
I was just seeing Chance out the door after an intense talk and make out cycle when my mom drove up the street an pulled in the drive way. I had dun goofed. She was home early. There is no god.
Chance somehow got through all of the snow that was on the ground, got in his car, and got the fuck out before my mom could even question him (fuck boy super powers, I suppose). I just wished I was old enough to actually drive so I could do the same. At first, I tried to hide, but my mom screamed at me to come into the living room and demanded to know who had been there with me. I tried to play it like Shaggy. I literally tried to say that no one had been there. “Yeah ma, what you saw was just a hologram.” It all made perfect sense in my soft frontal cortex.
But like all truths, they eventually came out, but the means in which they came to light revealed a little too much. This woman took my phone and read everything. Including our depraved sexts. And, the coup de grace, she saw his dick pics. SHE SAW HIS DICK PICS. The one funny part in all of this is that she admitted she wasn’t completely sure what she was looking at and had to confirm her suspicion with my dad. I don’t who that says more about…my mom, or the D (which Bobby wants described as “a baby’s arm holding an apple”).
As I you would probably expect, I was grounded for life and out a phone for a good while. But, I was determined to keep things going with Chance. I would borrow my sister or friends’ phones to talk to him and we’d fool around after school in the balcony of the auditorium…well, until one day when a lock mysteriously appeared on the door. I’m pretty sure the janitor caught us on candid camera, but what can you do. I should probably watch what I say since there’s probably enough DNA evidence up there to have us arrested (who let me into law school?)
Shortly after making things Facebook official and a beautiful Valentine’s Day spent giving handy J’s in the middle of the The Wolfman opening night crowd, my friends Tyrika and Lauren sat me down at lunch and told me that had to tell me something important. We all fucked around a shit ton, so I figured they were just being dramatic.
“Jenna, [Chance’s ex] is pregnant,” Tyrika said.
The words were failing to register.
“And Chance is the father,” Lauren explained.
My heart sank. My little Romeo & Juliet fantasy got its inevitable fatal blow. I felt like the biggest fucking asshole. Here I was, giving up all the freedom and trust I had with my parents, wasting my time and stressing myself trying to sneak around, and all just to be a deterrent from homeboy’s real problems. Also, it was looking like my mom was low key right, and that’s not something you’re ready to admit to yourself at fifteen.
I tried to rationalize it somehow.
“Maybe he doesn’t know,” I said optimistically.
“Oh no, he knows,” Lauren went on. “I heard it from so-and-so’s best friend’s mom.”
Well fuck, if it came from the mom mouth…
“And, well, a lot of people aren’t too happy with you right now,” Tyrika added.
ME? At first I was confused. I felt like a victim here. But then I only imagined how I must have looked to outsiders with all the facts. I was the bitchy little ho that stole someone’s boyfriend and now someone ain’t gonna have a daddy. Fuck, I just realized that I liked daddies when I didn’t even know they were daddies. Shit’s like some kind of sixth sense.
In any event, Chance emerged at the end of the lunch period like he usually did while escaping his shop class on a bathroom pass. As the bell began to ring, I knew it was now or never. I confronted him and the girlfriends ran out the door like the hash slinging slasher was behind them.
True, it was all true.
I walked away and let it all stew for a couple of days until I finally made the phone call I knew I needed to make. I wasn’t ready to play the role of the stupid new girlfriend on Teen Mom. I let him take off our Facebook status, though. I just didn’t have it in me.
Man, people hated me for a good while, but like all good high school gossip, people eventually moved on to the next juiciest thing. I missed having him as a sort of protector since people picked on me less frequently with the threat of a bad boy boyfriend behind me. People continued to be dicks all throughout my junior year. But it got butter. Shit, Bobby is very engaged now and Tyrika just had a beautiful babeh of her own. What I’m trying to say here is that high school ends and people move on. And that, my friends, takes us to our next tale.
But first, moral of the story: Let the D get you into some trouble, but not phone-confiscating trouble, and definitely don’t use it as a way to cope with bullying. Also Courtney Jantzen is a cunt.