The World O' Crap Archive

Welcome to the Collected World O' Crap, a comprehensive library of posts from the original Salon Blog, and our successor site, (2006 to 2010).

Current posts can be found here.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Ward, I’m Worried About The Beaver

Roy has discovered, through testimony from a totally dispassionate, nonpartisan source, that the modern junior high school is no longer merely a trial-by-adolescence-and-acne, but has metamorphosized into a nightmarish ordeal of unceasing (and meticulously diagrammed) blowjobs!  In the bathrooms!  In full view of the lunch ladies in the cafetorium!  Behind the popsicle-stick model of the U.S. Capitol made by Mrs. Merrill’s 5th Period Social Studies Class!  To quote Roy’s source:
And the middle school kids were giving, and getting, blowjobs all day.
Backbreaking labor, no doubt, although I don’t think it’s the first thing I’d choose to write a blues song about, if I happened to inherit Leadbelly’s 12-string.  Still, all these complaints about the lost innocence of our nation’s middle schoolers reminded me how difficult it is to get a contemporary twelve year-old to appreciate the gravity of a boner.  Why, back in the day, boners were serious business!  A deftly-timed boner, thrust heedlessly and repeatedly into a delicate situation, could foil even the Batman and Robin, as the proprietor of points out in his Seduction of the Innocent series:

Let’s work together to staunch this eruption of premature blowjobs, and create a world where our adolescents are once again free to take a pure, simple, childlike delight in such healthy and traditional pastimes as Duck Duck Goose, Red Light, Green Light, Queenie, Queenie, Who’s Got The Ball?, and Mother, May I (Sleep With Danger?).

Do it for the laughter.  For the love.  For the boners.

UPDATE:  Okay, I give up.  I just do.

Or the “money shot,” as the case may be.

8 Responses to “Ward, I’m Worried About The Beaver”

Remind me, Scott — I have copies of some of these panels from an earlier mention/article of yours (linked to SuperDickery, of course), but I can’t remember what it was about. Yes, I’m senile.
And if I weren’t so apathetic and lazy, I’d look up the article links for the story of eleven-year-olds, ten-year-olds, and NINE-YEAR-OLDS (4 kids in all) having sex in a classroom in Nawth Crackah Lousy-ana while the teacher stepped out for a bit — IN FRONT OF ALL OF THE OTHER KIDS.
It’s out there somewhere, I’m sure that someone with more gumption than I can find it easily. Imagine what those kids are witnessing at home. NINE YEARS OLD. And it was the GIRLS’ IDEA! Boredom, an audience, and raging premature hormones (thanks for those growth hormones in our genetically-modified food, ConAgra!), and since they couldn’t have video games, they FUCKED ON THE DESKS.
Boggles the fucking mind.
Hell, when I was nine years old (shaddup), I was actually *shocked* to hear a boy my age use the word “SHIT” at school. Granted, I’ve had my cursing repertoire since birth, considering who taught me to “speak,” but to say cuss words at SCHOOL!
I am so fucking old.
I think this is the post you were thinking of, Annti:
Now I understand why Jack Nicholson just had to play the Joker.
But seriously, folks, the best way to dissuade middle schoolers from engaging in oral sex is to introduce them to LSD. At least it worked where I grew up. And thanks to the state-funded Ritalin hucksters, a highly effective distribution system is already in place.
My laugh of the day, Scott. You are an honorary Aristocrat.
Thanks, Scott, but no, nope, that’s not it. Maybe Stinkeye sent ‘em to me, but I could almost *swear* that it originated with WO’C. Maybe it was back on the old Salon blog, I dunno.
If it’s wondering where you might have seen the cartoon panels before, Annti, Sadly, No! has used the “Joker’s Boner” bit before, though I don’t believe it was about middle-school kids having teh sex.
No, hell, I haven’t been over to Sadly, No! in aaaaages, it’s gotta be somewhere in the Wo’C archives over at Salon.
But no, I haven’t got the energy to go look for it. I do have, however, a gorgeous little marmalade boy in a pet carrier, and am hoping to capture his black-with-orange-spots littermate tonight as well. Some asshole just dropped them off here at L’Hotel du Fucktards the other night, and with no mama, no support whatsoever, so I’ve got to find homes for them before teh chalmatian land-skanky starts putting out saucers of antifreeze.
They wrap you around their teeny-tiny little purry fingers, and then you have to let them go. *sigh*
Ah, the good old days — when comic book characters could smoke.

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