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8:03 a.m. - 2005-05-06


I cannot tell you ladies how jealous I was of all of you in the sixth grade.

The day that all of you were herded into the gymnasium to watch a film ... I hated you.

At the time I had no idea what the film was about. Although I had a pretty good idea that you were in there watching some cool flick like "The Nutty Professor" or "Billy Jack".

All of us guys were jealous.

The WORST part was when you all came back out of the gymnasium and you all had secrets now.

You all threw knowing glances at each other with winks and smiles galore.

And us boys were dumbfounded as to what the hell was going on.

And when one of us dared to pry and find out what the film was about, we were shot down with the simple answer of "None of your business".

Then you'd all giggle and run off.

Now, decades later, I realize that the film you went to watch wasn't a Jerry Lewis classic ... it was a film that informed you all that one day you were going to wake up and your coochie would be on fire with blood spewing out of it and that would mean that you were a woman.

The film was meant as a gesture to say "Hey girls, it may be time to donate the white corduroys to Goodwill".

It would have been so easy for one of you to just walk up to our table at lunchtime and say "Hey. That wasn't a Three Stooges marathon we went to the other day. Our vaginas are all about to hemmorage and the film told us not to freak out about it. And there were lotsa chicks sniffing flowers and running slow motion through fields in it. That's it."

You would have put a lot of us at ease if you had just done that rather than the winks and giggles you subjected us to for the rest of the school year.

Which brings me to another point ... how come us boys didn't get a film about wet dreams?

That's some scary shit, ladies.

You're having a pretty cool dream about squeezing Penny Hagar's tiny breasts and the next thing you know you're pissing glue in your sleep.

Come on ... there should have been some film that we could have went to see that would say "Hey ... it's okay if your little willie starts convulsing in the middle of the night and you wake up in a puddle of something that's not urine. All boys do it. Fun, huh?"

But noooooooooo.

We had to deal with this shit on our own.

You can't just go to your parents and say "Mom, Dad ... I think something's wrong with my tallywhacker."

Or confide in your friends "Dude. Last night I pissed the bed. And it was AWESOME."

The school counselor doesn't want to hear this shit either.

So we're all pretty much fucked when it comes to pertinent info about nocturnal emissions until we get to see "Porky's" for the first time and then it all makes sense.

Fucking girls.

I hope you're all happy with your dainty little bloody poontangs and your sisterhood movies.

We get the short end of the stick once again.

Jeeminy Christmas.

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