Ramblings From an Apathetic Adult Baby

From Justin Gawel: Eccentric Dirtbag

Tag Archives: high school

All We Want is a Bus to Make Out with Girls In

The homecoming dance was behind us and, giddy with post-make-out fever, Chuck and I were determined to recreate what we had since dubbed “bus magic”. Saturday night had been perfect. Actual girls, girls we knew, had willingly kissed us, and then, in a twist, they’d kept on kissing us!

 

Our dates hadn’t lost a bet, done it on a dare, or done it as part of D.A.R.E. Saturday night had been real—Chuck and I tasted girl mouth and we wanted more.

 

By the process of elimination, we deduced that the party bus our group rented had been our much-needed game-changer. It hadn’t been our clothes; Chuck and I had worn suits and ties around girls before, like to church, funerals, or School Picture Day, and no fine ladies ever tried to get jiggy and suck some hot face with us then. Charm, too, was out of the question—we’d spent most of dinner and the ride to the dance giggling and quoting Dude, Where’s My Car ad nauseam the way we had nearly every other mouth-whoopee-less day. And, truly, our dates’ nervous laughter subsiding into a petrified, silent horror had been a strong indication that the late-night fervent tonguing hadn’t been prompted by my enthusiastic display of unrestrained agility on the dance floor that I called “getting funky”.

 

The solution was a simple truth: we needed our own party bus. Life in the last week had imparted that, at least for us, the party bus was an essential ingredient if Chuck and I ever again wanted to cook up a big ol’ pot of make-out-y fun.

 

Backers and financiers were needed. Fortunately, the allure of a PDA-party paradise made our venture an easy sell. Before even third period, Chuck and I had procured verbal commitments from twelve other sophomore dudes each aching to invest $100 for future access to a den full of uninhibited oral delights.

 

With potential pledges procured, we took to the Internet during lunch and were pleasantly surprised at how much bus $1,400 could buy. Craigslist and eBay had been scoured and our budgetary constraints had us considering options with descriptors like “great project”, “hasn’t been started in five years”, and “full of owls”.

 

No details were deal-breakers. I mean, just because one hadn’t been started in five years didn’t necessarily mean that it didn’t run. Like, just because I hadn’t made out with anyone for almost sixteen years didn’t mean that I wasn’t a natural at it and a true, bona fide mouth-hound capable of delivering the perfect ratio of tactical tenderness and unchecked pleasure at a moment’s notice.

 

Retrieving our to-be fortress for tongue-heavy hedonism would be a snap. One investor, Patrick, we knew had a freshly-acquired license and we totally figured he’d be legit to scoop it with us.

 

Sure, Patrick was still dangerously awful at driving his mom’s minivan, but that didn’t matter. He’d be perfect to caravan the three hundred miles back and forth from Southern Ohio this Saturday to pick up and drive back an unreliable vehicle six times the size of said minivan. Chuck was skeptical, but I assured him it’d be totally legit.

 

There would be no issues once we returned with our prize. Another committed shareholder, Jimmy, wanted it for his backyard. He said he knew his parents wouldn’t care; his dad had eloped to Argentina with that slutty mailman two months back, effectively prompting a nervous, sambuca-riddled breakdown from Jimmy’s mom.

 

Shoes on in the house, candy for breakfast, cigarettes for dessert, dessert after breakfast, Jimmy could get away with anything now. Really, since his dad left, Jimmy’s mom had become, like, hella sweet and it was totally coolio of her to remain apathetically indifferent to us parking our permanent party of perpetual first-basing at her place.

 

I can’t wait for this. 2010 Census, take note; I know you’re nearly eight years away, but by then we’ll have ridden all this bus magic right up to our new, permanent residence in Make-Out City, USA.

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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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