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honky cracker: -
So you're going to the prom with this girl you've been in love w ith all seventeen years of your life. And everything's great. You surprised her with the pretties bouquet of flowers she's ever seen. You're wearing a kick-ass tux. The prom DJ is the best EVER, and he's your friend. You set him up with the most ass-kickin' prom playlist of all-time. You're good to go.
You're dancin' with this girl. Having a great dinner. Every word out of your mouth is golden. She's eatin' it up. Everything's going well. You're about five outs away... I mean, twenty minutes away from ending the night in perfection...
But the music's grown stale. Your playlist has run out of songs, and the DJ's repeating himself. The crowd grows restless. And just as you're about to slow-dance to Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" for the third time, your life-long arch enemy shows up.
You know that guy. The punk that's been givin' you shit your whole life. Picked on you when you were a little kid. Always told you how much you sucked and how you've never done anything good at all. This is the kid with the silver spoon in his mouth. He drives the Porsche his dad bought for him to school, while you walk two-and-a-half miles every day to get an education. The kid with twenty-six rings. He's always bringing up "1918" for some reason or another. The kid with... aw, you get the picture.
Well, that guy's caught onto your song, and just like everyone else on t he field.. er... room, is pretty sick of it. Right at the start of the last dance, he taps your date on the shoulder and says "May I cut in?"
And he does.
The song ends. He leaves with your date. He gets her pregnant. They get married. Have several children. They live happily ever after.
Oh yeah, and he sucker-punched you in the stomach on his way out of the prom.
Yeah. That's what this feels like.
If anyone wants me, I'll be in my room. For days.
