Puerile Humour

Prom. One of the worst words in the world. Its all American. It reeks of cheese. Nothing about it is elegent. The word is a whore of the english laungage. Created in the 50’s, still used today. The right of passage for each and every teenager. Anyone who is anyone is there. Shame about the people who are there though. For some girls its one of those things which must be done correctly. If something fucks up, the night is ruined. Some of the girls at my (ex) school are Gas Mark 9 in human form. Others are brass monkeys. Yes, its whats on the inside that counts, but some of these girls are living proof you can’t polish a turd.

“I spent £1000 on a one of a kind dress. It was made by Jewish concentration camp workers in World War Two. The Nazis stole it and hid it with secrete piles of plunded gold. The Alleys found it on D-day. Its been in a safe in the Bank of England ever since. Wow, its amazing!”.

Shame your not though love. Nice dress, Internal Mess. Go back to MySpace. My mutantion of a suite comes from three well known names in fashion. George, Clarks and MyTuxido.co.uk (which is powered by Perl fyi).

Girls, its like an entirley different world. Hell, there are great girls out there with great personalities, but my (ex) school is like a pack of pokemon cards. You hope to find a rare Charazard, but end up with some self obsessed Pikachu. I better get off to bed, I’m getting grumpy. Perhaps I’m just being mean? Nah!