Ramblings From an Apathetic Adult Baby

From Justin Gawel: Eccentric Dirtbag

Monthly Archives: November 2012

A Sobering Graduation Speech

Fellow graduates in the class of 2012, I stand before you today to look back while we look forward toward tomorrow.  From science fairs, to homecoming pregnancy scandals and resulting cover-ups, to the annual tontine, boy, we’ve seen it all and I don’t think I could have asked for a better chucklehort of chuckleheads to be there with me each step of the way.

 

I know it’s cliché, and I’m as cliché an adult baby as they come, but I can’t believe it’s Graduation Day.  Here we are, the Class of 2012, in our gowns and mortarboards ready to walk across that stage in all of our pompous circumstance.   We’ve become so close and I feel like I know some of you as well as I know my own siblings.   It’s hard to believe that six weeks ago when this court-appointed alcohol class started that I said I didn’t deserve to be lumped in with you degenerate problem drinkers.

 

Whew, I am on pins and needles!  No, it’s not just because I’m giving a speech.  No, it’s not because I ran out of underwear this morning and am wearing a diaper made out of newspaper now.  And, no, it’s not even because I had my first beer yesterday since my arrest and then couldn’t stop drinking, no, right now I’m worried about tripping when I walk across the stage, right, guys, right?

 

Today’s also bittersweet.  We’re at the end of a golden age and as soon as Marcy P., the substance abuse coordinator here, tells us to move our tassels from right to left we’ll no longer be classmates, we’ll no longer be brothers in booze, we’ll just be adults in silly outfits complying with the terms of our respective probations.

 

Now, as you should know, you’re all invited to my open house tomorrow.  Yeah, I know, Erickson; you scheduled yours on the same day.  I’m sorry, but here goes: Erickson, you’re a poseur and I know I’m more popular than you.  I’m not as popular as Chad or the Moose, but come on; I know I’m more popular than the weiner who tries too hard to make friends.  In fact, Erickson, I think we’re all beginning to suspect you didn’t actually get a drunk-and-disorderly for vomiting in a magician’s hat at Sea World like you said, but rather that you just signed up for this class in a failed attempt to meet people and network.

 

Really, guys, I know I’m taking up the middle of my commencement speech talking about how you should come to my party and not Erickson’s.  Seriously though, come to mine; we’re going to have the barbecue going, we might rent a cotton candy machine.  It’s going to be awesome, everyone’s going to get their genitals touched and we’re seriously going to get so drunk, har har, just kidding—or maybe I’m not, wink!  Anywho, you all should come out, it’ll be fun.  Plus, I still need a couple of you to sign my yearbook.   Sensitive Sally Simpson, I’m looking at you!

 

Now that we’ve all got our suspended licenses back, we’ve all really started to live again. It didn’t matter if it was a school night, we were always going to the movies, the twenty-four hour shoe repair shop, Make-Out Creek, you name it and we can be there; living it up as only the Class of 2012 could.

 

Jocks, geeks, foreigners with weird socks, we never let cliques get in the way of being friends.  The camaraderie between all of us was amazing; we all would come out to cheer for our beloved football team, we all pitched in to help with the homecoming dance, and we all came together to put on Oklahoma! for a group of Mothers Against Drunk Driving.  Boy, that evening was a hoot to say the least!

 

I’m proud so say I’m part of this cohesive bunch; a cohesive bunch that includes everyone except Erickson.   I know we’ll be able to stay in touch as we return to our lives as alcoholic mailmen, alcoholic snake charmers, and alcoholic students, like Buglesson, who is applying to further his education right now, mostly because the court thinks he needs more education about learning about how it’s not cool to get drunk and threaten to throw your wife down the stairs just because the Giants lost.

 

I’ll miss you all.  You all are amazing people and I can’t want for our camping trip in a few weeks!

 

And I’m flattered that you all voted for me for “Best Sense of Humor” in the mock elections, solely based on that one time when I farted real loud during that movie about car accidents.

 

Once again, graduates, congrats; I’m proud to be a part Class of 2012!

 

 

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High Schooler’s Plan for the Apocalypse

We can all agree high school kids are idiots.  We always make comments about them like, “Oh, she’s so smart for her age,” and never, “Oh, she’s so smart”.  We, rightfully, handicap the field to pay them a compliment; it’s like saying, “He walks pretty well for having Gout,” or, “She has a pretty good appetite for just watching them pull the plug on Grandma.”  Now, dead-grandma-Old-Country-Buffet-trip or no dead-grandma-Old-Country-Buffet-trip, high school kids still remain pretty dumb on the whole and incredibly easy to trick into anything.

 

Now, the chucklehead who sat behind me in tenth-grade English was no exception.  He wasn’t illiterate, but you sure couldn’t tell.  I remember convincing him that Hemmingway’s A Farewell to Arms was titled as such because the main character’s arms are blown off in an explosion at the end.   Like an old woman slipping on a banana peel and breaking her hip as she lands in a pile of wet garbage and cats, it was hysterical and sad all at the same time.

 

One day before class this future community college dropout was speculating on how he wants to go out when the world freezes over.  Yes, he is convinced that the world is going to end where everyone and everything is suspended in time and completely frozen, because, clearly, he sees the only logical end of the world being a super villain using some sort of doomsday device to freeze us all after the ransom of ten-thousand Asian babies isn’t paid.  Climate change, asteroids, nuclear war—all of these theories never crossed his mind or do not hold any credibility in his mind.  Refreshing to see that he doesn’t pay attention in his science or social studies classes either.

 

Chucklehead elaborates further that at the moment of said hyper-freezing of the world he wants to mid-coitus with a lady.  This way, in his eyes, when future beings thaw his corpse out there will never be any doubt in their eyes on whether or not this man was able to get pussy.  Adamant, he said this was the way he wanted to go out as, apparently, there is nothing else in his life he would want to be remembered by other than his ability to convince this one lucky woman let him wiggle around his stink pickle inside of her this one instance.

 

It’s shocking to me that this was the only way that he thought he could demonstrate his pussy prowess to future archaeologists.  Frankly, he could have just wished to be with his children when the world ended; a touching gesture that confirms that this man had raised children and has had sex in the past.  If he didn’t want his kids to be with him he could have just asked to die clutching child support and alimony collection letters, further demonstrating that at least during one point during his life he was able to let his bathing suit area rub up against a lady’s bathing suit area enough to get her pregnant.

 

Really, this chucklehead is overlooking the most obvious solution which would be just constantly prepare for the end of the world by perpetually wearing a t-shirt that says something like “I Fuck On the First Date”, “Pussy Poacher”, or “I’m RSVP-ing to the Orgy As “Cumming””, as any one of those t-shirts would undoubtedly be worn by an individual who wants to show off how much sex they have had.

 

To be James Blunt, his solution leaves a lot to be desired.  First off, slowly freezing to death with your penis out sounds like horrible way to die.  Plus what if the archaeologists interpret it wrong? I mean, honestly, what if they do a future autopsy and reveal that the girl died four hours before the world ended and Chucklehead died?

 

As for me I’m hoping to die the way I lived—drunk and in a karaoke related mishap.

 

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