Totally Fucked

Dear readers, I know that this will be my second angst-ridden post about school, but seeing as it's already 3 AM and I have nobody else to bitch at, I'm going to vent here. Feel free to ignore this post. Seriously, save yourself five minutes of your life. Watch the Trololo Guy instead! Read a book! Meet a lovely woman named Tiffany and settle down! Have 2.5 beautiful children and a white picket fence! Be content in your domesticity until you find out that it's all been a ruse and that she is your pool boy in disguise only out to take advantage of your hefty life insurance plan!

For those of you still with me, I'll try and make this quick and dirty. Which means it's going to be long and messy. To sum up my situation, I have summer homework for my AP Government class and I didn't know it was already due or that it had required reading. I'm guessing that I got a copy of the homework sometime before school let out, but I didn't look too closely and kind of lost track of it. A whole summer blurred by, so now here I am two days before school starts (technically one now). Tonight, I checked the school's website to find out exactly what I should've been doing while I was prancing off to parts of the world unknown. I knew there would be homework. I was expecting homework. I just didn't expect it to be due yesterday.

As an added bonus to this rapidly growing clusterfuck, it requires knowledge of a book that I didn't read and never bought. We were also supposed to be checking into the website all summer and responding to posts that the teachers make. The school insists on using their weird forum in a sad attempt at remaining current and in touch with the student population. I'd rather just write a damned report. Because I have not done this summer homework, I'll be kicked out of the AP class and put in a regular government/civics class, as is required for graduation.

So now I'm the special kind of screwed where they've already handed out schedules and I can't take one of the classes on mine. Maybe they'll put me in a study hall. Maybe they'll let me take government/civics online. They probably won't. They don't like me in the way that they don't really like anybody going to school here. Probably my schedule will be flipped upside down and my parents will be very unhappy with me and there will be worse unforeseen consequences. It's way too close to school for this to be happening. I'm totally fucked. But you know what? The world hasn't ended yet. I still have some optimism that I'll find a way out of this.

Imitation of Life: The Waiter Writes Weird Porn About People Who Certainly Don't Exist, Oh No

Hello, faithful readers. I'm sure that all two of you are wondering why I'm making this post. In short, I'm writing an RPF (Real Person Fic) about two particularly annoying band instructors of mine and I'd really appreciate your patience because this is my first shot at writing fanfiction of any sort. Keep in mind that if you don't know these people in real life it's not going to make sense. It's going to sound silly. You won't know who any of these people are and you'll be wondering to yourself "Hey self, shouldn't this lady be committed to a mental institution for writing weird shit about real people?" That's a very good question and in my defense, this is just a constructive way to vent. So sit back, relax, and prepare to get weirded out and maybe a little bit turned on.

Or as an alternative, go watch this video and wait for me to post something marginally normal.

Wells of Passion

 Chapter 1: The Tromboner

 It started out the way many things do: on a crisp clear morning over a lush and verdant marching band field in the rural midwest. It was late summer and band camp was about to begin. Mr. Wells stood solemnly by this field, surveying his domain. With his shoulders unshrugged and his manmeat jutting out proudly and unrestrained by any undergarments, he was in his element. Nothing could slow him down today; he meant business.

His young protégé, Ed beamed brightly by his side, the body heat from his severe sunburns radiating off of him in sickly waves. His petite frame and impish face suggested that he was a child of nature. This was not a man to be bound by superficial societal constructs like sunscreen or footwear or common social decency.

 "Look at it, Ed," said the older man, gesturing to the massive stretch of grass and hash marks. "Isn't it everything you've always wanted?"

"Everything..." whispered the nymph of a man, a little breathlessly. His eyes couldn't focus on the field, but only on Mr. Wells and his rather impressive bulge. He noticed with a surge of fondness and slight arousal that the older man still hadn't mastered the art of wearing undergarments. He purposely let his posture go slack for a moment.

"Do you know what you're doing?" growled Mr. Wells.

"No, sir!" said Ed, coquettishly batting his long eyelashes.

"Well then, let me fix that for you," he responded, placing one hand awkwardly on the young man's lower back and the other around his now throbbing erection. Ed moaned softly and began to lean back tower for support, his knees growing weak as callused fingers pumped furiously over his turgid member.

"Don't spill the milk now. Not yet," murmered Mr. Wells, pressing open-mouthed kisses into Ed's sun-ravaged neck.

As they continued their wild display of passion on the band field, a familiar bearded figure walked up to them, valve oil in hand.

"Hey Ed, I've got a trombone that could use a good polish-" he cut off abruptly as he realized what was happening, only able to stare on in shocked silence as a feeling of betrayal shook him to his core.

"Oh, I see how it is! I'll just go..." said the great bearded man in a tone that could only be described as hurt.

"Charlie, wait!" exclaimed Ed, sharing a meaningful look with Mr. Wells. "We've been talking, and well..."

"We want you to join us," finished the older man. A gentle wanting look crossed his features as he waited for a response.

"Are you guys serious?" gasped Charlie.

"As a marching accident," said Mr. Wells, his eyes meeting Charlie's bearded gaze. "Well?"

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" he exclaimed, and a thousand nights of seemingly unrequited passion and fantasies finally seemed to catch up with him. It almost felt unreal as Ed and Mr Wells converged on him and his now fully aroused manhood, their hands and mouths insatiable, hot and wanting. He held back tears of joy as the three men became one writhing being of pure unbridled pleasure. 

To the outside viewer, it would soon become unclear what was happening. The men were writhing against one another, thrusting in and out of orifices, and suckling at one another's abs. Animal noises were rampant and Santorum would later pour like waterfalls. It can be more simply explained as this: three parts of the universe had finally moved into the place where they had always belonged.

Ed was the first to emerge from this orgiastic bliss, shouting "I-I think I'm gonna spill the milk!" 

Mr. Wells and Charlie were unable to respond and spilled theirs soon after. The three collapsed in a sweaty, sticky heap of bare skin and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of trombones and their future. Later, a very confused high school Junior would see the pile of men and become inspired to go home for the day and feed her dog green beans as she tried to erase the memory of so much skin.

Streets of Berlin: The Sexy Post

So, for those of you who don't already know, I'm in Germany and I will be for three weeks. Well, there's two and a half left, but I digress. And I will possibly be blogging semi-frequently about my German adventures because It's easier than typing a shit ton of messages on Facebook. Sorry in advance if I bore or offend anyone. The point is, I'm an exchange student and these are my adventures.

Which brings me to my next point: Boobs. Apparently sex and nudity aren't quite as taboo here, so imagine my surprise when I walked into my host family's house and got an admittedly tasteful facefull of semi-nude art. There were boobs everywhere. I swear, I saw at least five. It was actually good art, though. And I shouldn't have been so shocked, because the night before, my friends and I had stayed up late in a German hostel laughing at their phone sex/porn infomercial channel because German is a ridiculous language to try to sound sexy in. The night before that, we somehow wound up watching this ridiculous lingerie football thing that periodically cut to men being kicked in the crotch. The girls would do a wimpy little foot nudge, jump around in front of the camera, then BAM, crotch shot (not to the girl, to some random European man). They say that Americans like stupid things, but I think that the Germans pretty much distilled the essence of human entertainment right there.

So, I'm going to wrap it up here, but since I don't have any pictures to make things interesting, here's a video of Mick Jagger in drag singing about leaving Berlin. It's relevant, right?

This is from Bent, by the way. It's a really good movie, but I will say that it's rather graphic. It's also about two men who fall in love in a concentration camp during the Holocaust and it's R rated, so if any of that offends you, don't watch it. If you are Sean or Mal, you already have. Sorry if this post was kind of disjointed, but hey, I've got a lot to tell you guys now. Maybe I'll blog about toast-brick-poptart man that I saw on TV next time. I have pictures, be prepared.

If You Want Something, Go Find a Better Class

 Warning! Long-ass post ahead! Go grab some popcorn or whatever.

As far as years go, I'd rate this one an 8 out of 10 on the Bieber scale of suckiness. Long story short, depression hit hard again and my parents failed to give a single fuck. This means my grades took a fairly major hit. I had above a 4.0 GPA last year. This was more like a 3.4 year. Anyway, I'm mostly better now, but I have this little... problem. You see, I was getting C's and D's in Precalculus all year because silly old me forgot to do my homework all year while I was struggling to find the slightest scrap of purpose in this strange and saddening place that I thought the world was. I was always falling asleep in class because the insomnia kept me up all night, and frankly, I just couldn't see the point in trying if I was just going to grow up to live in a windowless van down by the river. I was probably going to get arrested for breaking and entering into a nursing home at the age of 27, so why did I care? So I'd leave my tests half unfinished and half wrong. I hadn't the slightest idea what was going on in class. Anyone could see that I wasn't okay.

Now, precalculus was my worst class, and as luck would have it,  I'm technically a year ahead in math, so I can afford to retake it next year. This means that they replace the shitty grade on my transcript and I can probably get into a college that isn't the Mulebreath, Montana University of Mouth-Breathing. So, after making this decision, I was feeling great. My burdens were halved and there was a little extra spring in my step. My thoughts were effervescent and lit up with cries of "Look at all the fucks I don't give! This man is nothing! This class is nothing!" For Christ's sake, I got a 32 on the ACT! I was gonna get out of this barren hellhole that some colloquially refer to as Ohio and I was going to live.

So what did my math teacher do? He suddenly took an interest in my passing this class. Even though there's literally no point in me putting in any more effort this year. He couldn't have helped me earlier when I was coming into the room on a test day and putting my head down on the desk because I felt so useless. No, he had me come in after school and miss an important meeting on the fucking German exchange trip I'm going on in a few weeks. This was clearly more important. Maybe I won't know how to ask for any food in a foreign county besides Nutella and pizza, and maybe I'll end up having to wash my clothes in the sink, but hey, I said. Why not show him that you can put the effort in?

Malnutrition, here I come!

Honestly, I don't know why I bothered. I showed up as per agreement and he seriously didn't know if I was a junior or senior or why I was even there. He fucking forgot. I could've gone home scot-free, but I stuck by my word and he forgot. Oh, and it gets better. He left about five minutes into this little study session. I don't know where he went. He could've been in goddamn Narnia playing grabass with Mr. Tumnus for all I know. He showed up again 5 minutes before I had to leave, clearly worn and haggard from jerking it in the teacher's lounge for an hour. He asked if I had any questions. I asked him about hyperbolas and he proceeded to explain ellipses. He wants me to do more review sheets for homework tonight. Seriously? Fuck this guy.

Priggidy-Prizom: Thugchantment at the Cloughb

Last Saturday was a very magical night for a lot of people. Specifically the other juniors and seniors at my high school, because it was prom night. Yes, I went, and I suppose it was a little magical for me, too. I had my hair done up all pretty, I was wearing a slinky black dress, I'd put on a healthy slathering of dark red lipstick... and I proceeded to dance the night away on the edge of the dance floor with my two dateless friends. And I use the term "dance" very loosely.

I did:

1.) The Shopping Cart
2.) The Angsty Thrashing Motion
3.) The Writhe Around Trying to Look Sensual
4.) The Carlton
5.) All of These Dances Here: http://vimeo.com/39084398

They Did:

1.) Not a Whole Lot

My good friend Monica claimed that aesexuals can't dance, and after a brief but interesting demonstration on her part, I'm inclined to agree with her. To her credit, she'd occasionally give a shimmy of the shoulders. We were a fun-looking bunch, I'm sure. Most of the other attendees started out dancing normally, while the more ambitious couples were grinding about five minutes into the event. Eventually, they all consolidated into the middle of the dance floor and were exclusively writhing and grinding against each other. And that's what really grinds my gears about these events. (Pun definitely intended.) They all laugh about how I dance weird, but are they really dancing? No. They're just mass dry-humping. So screw them! Anyway, it looked like a combination between a fancy mosh pit and a well-dressed orgy and it smelled like a pregnant grizzly bear. So I played it safe and kept doing the Carlton with my aesexual friend. Also, there was free Mountain Dew. It's not how most people envision their junior prom, but it was almost everything I wanted it to be.

This is Totally a Good Idea

Hi. I'm Sarah, and after meeting three strangers from Nebraska on Omegle, I've decided to start a blog. That may sound like a questionable reason for wasting my time on something that no one's ever going to read and showing the internet just how poor my writing skills are. This is probably true, but bear with me; these strangers changed my life.

It all started when my friend Sean and I were cruising around Omegle. We were insulting strangers' grammar and occasionally laughing at their grossly misshapen genitalia. Strange men from Turkey were beckoning us left and right to shed our clothing and join them in low-resolution orgiastic bliss. Also, Sean even got mistaken for a girl a few times*. Sounds like fun, right? Well, eventually we ran into some girls from Nebraska. To our surprise, they didn't next us or start whipping their junk out. So we talked. And we had things in common. Like our love of Darren Criss. And they showed us their blogs. Then Sean's dad came to pick him up, so I guess that's where the story ends for now. But now I'm here to spread the magic of coincidence and the internet, one post at a time. Eh, that's probably a lie, I tend to talk about my cats a lot and like most of Ohio's fine citizens, I don't really have much of importance to say. But unlike most of Ohio's fine citizens, I'm literate, so I get to have a blog. Enjoy, I guess.

*Sean, if you ever read this, don't feel self-conscious. My webcam makes me look like the Pilsbury Dough Boy and a giraffe made sweet, sweet love, had me, then slathered my face in makeup. I don't think anyone looks good on it.