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.