Invasion of The Vagina-Snatchers

Alas, it is time to write. It's not that I haven't been writing; it's just that after weeks of writing on Rousseau, Jefferson, and Lao-Tzu, I find it more appealing than ever to write on things that have to do with my life. Since I am not a prince (though I do own a couple Prince albums and after multiple times of clicking "repeat" I find that I still have no idea why the rain is purple and not blue or maybe even a deep crimson), and I did not write the Declaration of Independence (for if I did, I would classify men's inalienable rights as Shooting The Bird In Traffic, Shooting The Bird In Photographs, and Shooting The Bird When Not Quite Sure How To Respond With Words), and I am not Asian (though, according to The Vapors, you can turn Japanese on a daily basis, depending solely on how horny you are), I am forced to write only of what I know of. And what I know does not pertain to government, our country, or obtaining peace, but instead pertains to the following: red cardigans, cop calls, and bare-naked asses.

I really hate having to "paint the picture," but since you may not understand this story fully, or learn a valuable lesson from it for that matter, I find that I must paint said picture, and it's not going to be pretty. Since I hate doing it. Which I just told you. WERE YOU NOT PAYING ATTENTION? Alright, summary: IwasinChattanoogafortheweekendandthisiswhathappened:

True friends will greet you with hugs, kisses, and an unlimited supply of margaritas. I have these true friends. While sitting outside and catching up ("What are you up to?" "Not shit."), we all found it rather amusing to mock the packs of Catholic School Girls who had all seemed to flock to this particular college campus. Knowing that we were on such a location, we were quick to infer that these were not actual Catholic School Girls, but instead Big Fat Attention Whores. We all knew that by boycotting the frat party of the night and spending our evening making fun of the cheeks peeking out from behind the plaid, we were super fucking cool. However, it is a known fact that alcohol tends to make people less cool. And I will willingly admit...I was the first to surrender my cool points.

"So...do you guys...maybe...wannagotothefratparty?"

Cringing cringing cringing waiting for a response please say yes cringing cringing cringing.

"I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING BUT DIDN'T WANT TO SAY ANYTHING!"

Jumping jumping jumping we are all way too excited and therefore must be way too intoxicated but still jumping jumping jumping.

"Well hell yeah dude, let's go!"

Piling piling piling how can we all fit into this car at least I am focused enough to call shotgun piling piling piling.

After the two man-boys of our group, a group which we like to call BCM (Big Cock Mafia for long), and the two man-boys who I shall refer to as Thing 1 and Thing 2, change into some more appropriate "successful man clothes," which can be defined as the question of, "Just how closely can you resemble an Easter Egg?," we're ready to hit the road. Us girls, 3 of us in total, decided to go as Catholic School Girls Who Had Been Expelled, which can be defined as, "I'm not changing my clothes just to be half-naked, you bitch." And off we were, completely oblivious to just what lay in store for us.

Having been born with vaginas, the three of us were allowed to waltz right in. And they say there is still inequality among men and women! Pshhh! Vaginas have obviously, obviously, acquired much respect over the years, since now there are whole social gatherings planned discreetly themed as, "Invasion of The Vagina-Snatchers." Yay for women! Aretha, your wish has come true! Aretha, EUREKA!

I'm starting to not relate to my audience. Moving on.

Thing 1 and Thing 2, on the contrary, had been asked to please "check the list," a list of which they were not on, since neither of them are Sperry-wearing, condom-carrying, dick-slobs from The Bone Zone, so off they went into the darkness of the night...never to be seen again...until 45 minutes later when they appeared on the balcony dripping with sweat.

"YOU...HAVE...NO....gasp for air...IDEA WHAT WE JUST WENT THROUGH."

Trekking through the woods for miles. Hopping a barbed wire fence. Climbing over a giant air-conditioning unit. Hopping yet another barbed wire fence. Hiking in the dark. Through the woods. Around the corner. Up the balcony. Across the planks. And there they were.

All for a frat party.

Damn alcohol.

After a mere 10 minutes of mingling with drunken sluts (why is it that girls only get the way they get when they drink? I never see guys slurring their words and falling all over the place and touching everyone they come across and telling everyone how "cute" they are in a voice that has become much more high-pitched than it was pre-drinking. girls suck. and these ones sucked in lots of different ways.), Red Cardigan, a.k.a. Giant Doucher, a.k.a. Preppy Asswipe, a.k.a. WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING WHEN YOU PUT ON THAT RED CARDIGAN YOU CHRISTMAS-TIME-WHORE, approaches Thing 1. Pulls him aside. All with his cheesy-smile and his pretentious attitude and his doomed post-college future. To "have a chat."

Thing 1 soon returns, relieved because "that was a close one that was a close one that was a close one he almost caught me but I convinced him I was a frat brother I can't believe he fell for that," all while I am in clear view of Red Cardigan eavesdropping from around the corner.

"Thing 1. Thing 1. Thing 1."

I was thinking that maybe if I just repeated his name over and over again, he'd stop talking. My method proved to have some flaws.

"Hey, buddy, can I talk to you again real quick?"

I still don't understand how any man could take himself seriously in a cardigan.

I mean it's a cardigan.

Cardigan.

Red cardigan.

Cardigan that's red.

CAR.

DI.

GAN.

Whatever. Thing 1 comes back with the news that we're getting kicked out. I was ready to leave after having been asked "where my costume was," but I soon changed my mind after hearing from Thing 2 that there was a dance party downstairs. Because if I were a machine...

But, Thing 1 was getting "sketched out" and therefore we collected the 5 total members of Big Cock Mafia and departed from the soon-to-be-orgy.

But I was pissed.

I was so pissed, in fact, that the whole way back to the car, I was yelling at Thing 1 for allowing Red Cardigan to kick him out like that. And for being polite to Red Cardigan. And for leaving in a calm, cool, collected, and mature manner. WE ARE 20 YEARS OLD THIS IS NO TIME TO BE MATURE WE'RE AT A BEER-BINGING-BROTHEL FOR GOD'S SAKE.

Thing 1 began to see things my way. But how would we get revenge? One of us Catholic-School-Outcasts made a little joke from the backseat as we sat pondering.

"Ha! It'd be so funny if we called the cops on them and busted their party!"

Bingo.

"YES, HELLO? OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THERE'S THIS FRAT PARTY ON FAGGOT STREET AND OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I CAN'T HANDLE THIS I CAN'T LOOK OH MY GOD YOU NEED TO GET THE POLICE OVER HERE NOW---"

"Please calm down, sir. We are sending some officers over right---"

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOD PLEASE STOP MAN PLEASE STOP LOOK I HAVE TO GO NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

The minute he hangs up, we all start laughing, while realizing that Thing 1 could make quite the soap opera star. For none of us could have done it quite like that.

We pull up next to the house and wait. I, personally, was paranoid as shit, but was much thankful later that Thing 1 insisted on us posting up outside the house, for minutes later, it was one...two...three sirens.

And one stampede of sloppy sluts.

We drive off, parking in a random, abandoned lot and getting out of out mere panic and a total lapse of logic.

"Uhh...LET'S WALK!"

"GOOD IDEA!"

Thing 2 and I soon lost the other three, missing out on their venture back to the frat house. Apparently it went a little something like this.

"Hey! Where's Red Cardigan?!"

"LOOK MAN I HAVE BIGGER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT HERE SOMEONE CALLED THE COPS ON US IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY NOTICED."

After hearing this tale, we all decide to get back in the car and head back to campus to reminisce on the night and tell each other how badass we all are. It is to our luck that to get home, we first had to drive past the frat house.

"HEY! HEY! WHERE'S RED CARDIGAN? I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR RED CARDIGAN!"

While Thing 1 is standing on his seat and hanging out the window, Thing 2 sees such a moment as the perfect opportunity to pull down his pants, stick his ass out the window, and shake it a little to and fro.

Their faces...oh, if you could have just seen their faces...the countless amount of shocked, angry faces...and the ass out the window.

"OH MY GOD HE'S GONNA HIT US!"

We zoom back into the lane, with Thing 2 falling in Thing 1's lap, still with his pants down, mind you, and we return to out humble abode, where we had previously been sitting, only imagining what it would be like to attend such a party.

Not even knowing that later that night, the 5 of us would MAKE that party. Fuck with Big Cock Mafia, and Big Cock Mafia fucks your world. I'd now like to abruptly end this with a little piece of Ferrier Wisdom:

If the Scatman can do it, so can you.