Like most alligators, I have never gone to a prom. You have to figure though, in all of these years of proms that at one point an alligator attended one. I’m not sure if he had a date or anything. But he was there and that’s more than I can say.
(No one’s ever worn a shirt with my face on it. Another win for alligators)
Why didn’t I go to prom? Many reasons. I didn’t have a girlfriend, I didn’t have a girl who was a friend, I’m cheap, I’m too cheap to go to a dance with a girl I don’t really like, I was too shy to ask anyone, the one girl I did ask was as a joke and she threw a napkin at me then called me a cunt, I don’t enjoy dancing, I don’t enjoy wearing a suit, I’m weird, I’m afraid of rejection, and a thousand other reasons which you would have to know every single thing about my life to fully comprehend. Did I mention that I’m a complete anti-socialite? That’s a big reason for a lot of my downfalls.
The first chance I ever had to go to a dance was in sixth grade. I guess I did go to one. They forced us to. It was the day before Christmas break and they gathered us all into the cafetorium (cafeteria/auditorium hybrid) and played Smashmouth, loudly. They did this every year. Each year it got worse. Sixth grade was my friends and I sitting at a cafetorium table bullshitting and checking out the girl with the biggest tits in the class, A-Cup Ashley. You see, that’s a joke about how sixth grade girls have small breasts and an A-Cup is large for them. I can only think of one real person named Ashley that had large breasts. I saw her poop once. Not the act of defecating but rather the aftermath. It was on the floor. A story for another day. Seventh grade I remember was in the gymnasium. All I remember from that was a kid doing pull-ups while a girl with a lot of makeup stood below crying. That girl always wore lots of makeup. Even when she actually became an adult whore. Eighth grade was by far the worst. Some semi-retarded kid I was friends with (like that narrows it down) saw that I wasn’t having fun. He was always a real prick but I guess he was getting older and wiser. He asked a girl, a very homely looking girl with a turtle’s face, if she would dance with me. I remember sitting in a chair and looking at her. She looked at me and after 3 seconds turned back to my Mongoloid Mate. Do I have to type out that she said no and left? I think she left school all together too. Damn. I put her on the streets by having an ugly face.
They actually tried teaching us in middle school how to dance. In gym class, one week a year we’d have to do dancing. I don’t know why that was such a depressing thing. Sixth grade I danced with some Spanish chick that went missing for a year then came back and was really hot. I think she might have been replaced by a different actress. By seventh grade they let males dance with males which was less awkward for some reason. I guess doing the alley cat is already gay. Why not do it with a male friend? I learned the grapevine, the chicken dance, and the electric slide. They helped me achieve nothing in life. At least track reminded me that I’d need to develop a personality to ever get anyone to like me ever.
(Go ahead, run from your problems and lack of charisma)
High school dances were always the scary ones. Painted in the media as life changing and important, I was terrified of them. There were formals, homecomings, socials, and proms. No longer were these events free. Now you’d have to pay to stand in a room and have girls walk by you and onto someone taller and thinner. You also can’t go to a high school dance without getting your picture taken. Prom photos are so dopey! The average height male standing behind the average height female now in high heels making her taller than the male? And she’s orange? Girls on prom do not look human. They look like deformed carrots. Mutant vegetables with one goal in mind, looking “pretty” and losing their virginities in the backseat of a limo. That’s two actually. Fuck me.
Most of my friends who went to prom did not have fun. I remember one telling me about how his date bailed on him as soon as they got there. He drove away from her house with the horn down and his middle finger raised up in the air. He was always flipping people off. I have a picture and someone else I know has a picture of him flipping the bird. He’s not even a mean person which is strange. He just really likes telling people to go to hell.
(My good friend Steve showing displeasure to his prom date)
No longer do I have to concern myself with dances. Sure, I’m in situations where I might have to dance to fit in, by why bother? Unless I’m promised a blow job in the bathroom for my dancing, I don’t see the point. It’s not fun. Gyrating my hips and arms to the beat of music? No thank you. I’ll take standing awkwardly over moving incorrectly any day of the week. Until I’m a washed up celebrity and I‘m on Dancing With the Stars, I refuse to boogie.