Okay, I know it’s been a while. I know you have to think long and hard to recall those halcyon days when I was cool, when I was hip, when I meant you were popular.
I know you’re probably reading this in the bathroom while your bowels are more out of control than a flying high-speed means of transportation that has been commandeered by slithering reptiles, but bare with me for a second. Come on kids, don’t you remember me? I know I’ve let myself go a little bit, I know I haven’t been around much lately, and I know I lost to that skank ass bitch Hoopz on Flavor of Love. But really dudes, don’t you remember Mono?
All right, I understand that in all the hub-bub of vomiting up your intestines and peeing out your assholes that gastroenteritis has incited, it’s easy to forget about me. I mean, shit, I just make you really tired, not feel like your insides are L.A. during the Rodney King riots. But, like, remember how fuckin’ cool you were if you had me? If you had me, you were making out; if you had me, you were getting laid… in ninth grade standards, which meant a very awkward and unfulfilling handjob. If you have gastroenteritis, that means you’ve been eating your own shit.
Now, I may be old-fashioned, but where I come from – Idaho – it’s always preferable to get a little poon than to eat a little poop. In my poker game, an oral-oral pair always beats the fecal-oral straight.
Remember back in ninth grade, when the school nurse would have to call a meeting telling everyone to stop making out with each other so I would stop getting all up in your junk and shit? Man, those were some good days. Even the kids who everyone knew were way too uncool to get mono would try to lick the milk carton of the slutty girl in the grade, but she’d usually catch him and spray mace in his eyes, but it didn’t even matter because Alex Gelman has glasses so he didn’t get mace in his eyes.
Either way, I know my perception of what’s “hip” these days seems to be a little skewed in light of recent events, but I would think that being told to stop banging each other is a better health advisory than “wash your hands” and “stop eating your poop.” Just my opinion.
So what do you say, baby? How bout one more time, just for memory’s sake? You and your significant other/whoever’s gotten drunk enough on the two beers that you and your twelve friends split between you can sneak off onto the tennis courts… they can cut their tongue on your braces… you can prematurely ejaculate. Hell, we don’t even have to wash our hands when we’re done.
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