Remember that old high school taboo? The one that felt so good when we violated it; made us call our friends and stand an inch taller when we walked down the street? The very same taboo that dragged us sheepishly to 18+ clubs when we were already 23, maybe pushing 30 . . .
That’s right; banging high school chicks – an institution almost as venerable and American as baseball or racism. The archetypical high school chick is a perfect piece of Americana that should be shared and revered by every passing generation. You see, the most amazing thing about high school chicks is their bodies’ ability to have shaped into maturity while their sexual sensibilities lag a few years behind. Couple this hot vulnerability with the fact that high school chicks haven’t suffered the “freshman 15” (which is now more like the “freshman, WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FAT BITCH!?”), and are generally toned from some sort of pseudo-erotic field hockey practice, and you have created a storm perfect enough for George Clooney and Marky Mark to star in.
However, what I witnessed the other day stands to threaten this essential privilege of maledom.
Picture this: a crisp spring morning near Bryant Park (a bit too early and picturesque for the hipsters to bother crawling out of their patchouli-saturated minimalist pads that cost $4,300 a month because of their proximity to the best “nabes” in the City). But I digress. Three tour buses have stopped near the park to unload what looks to be a veritable smorgasbord of high school chicks. This is clearly a field trip that will shake the very foundations upon which these mid-western simpletons have been raised. The stupefied countenances of the adolescents departing the bus betrayed their shattering notions of blue-collared courtesy and cornhusker God that they have spent 18 years cultivating. But amidst the bustling street vendors and effervescent coming of age experiences, I was focused on one thing – checking out the bods on high school chicks, hoping they are wearing those little gym shorts.
That’s right; banging high school chicks – an institution almost as venerable and American as baseball or racism. The archetypical high school chick is a perfect piece of Americana that should be shared and revered by every passing generation. You see, the most amazing thing about high school chicks is their bodies’ ability to have shaped into maturity while their sexual sensibilities lag a few years behind. Couple this hot vulnerability with the fact that high school chicks haven’t suffered the “freshman 15” (which is now more like the “freshman, WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FAT BITCH!?”), and are generally toned from some sort of pseudo-erotic field hockey practice, and you have created a storm perfect enough for George Clooney and Marky Mark to star in.
However, what I witnessed the other day stands to threaten this essential privilege of maledom.
Picture this: a crisp spring morning near Bryant Park (a bit too early and picturesque for the hipsters to bother crawling out of their patchouli-saturated minimalist pads that cost $4,300 a month because of their proximity to the best “nabes” in the City). But I digress. Three tour buses have stopped near the park to unload what looks to be a veritable smorgasbord of high school chicks. This is clearly a field trip that will shake the very foundations upon which these mid-western simpletons have been raised. The stupefied countenances of the adolescents departing the bus betrayed their shattering notions of blue-collared courtesy and cornhusker God that they have spent 18 years cultivating. But amidst the bustling street vendors and effervescent coming of age experiences, I was focused on one thing – checking out the bods on high school chicks, hoping they are wearing those little gym shorts.
But to my dismay, these were not the high school chicks I so enjoyed over the last decade or so. Oh no; I thought I had somehow transported uptown to the Natural History Museum, surrounded by odd-toed ungulates and centaurs (this is the unfortunately growing occurrence where a girl is relatively proportionate from the waist up, but seems to have suffered some localized form of elephantiasis from the waist down). How did these 15-18 year old girls get so fat? What the hell are they doing in high school? Why were they still wearing the little gym shorts? And more importantly, what are the poor high school and college boys turning to for sexual gratification? Certainly not these sea cows with poorly bleached hair and forced valley-girl accents!
Then it hit me; the MILF. In the late 90’s the MILF came on the scene harder than Peter North and Mandingo performing a wobbly-H. It suddenly made so much sense - no one wants to fuck these shabby and inglorious excuses for high school chicks (except for Japanese business men and a few black guys). The prevalence of high school students nailing the ‘teach, the slew of “Real Housewifes of Some Shithole Town,” porn sites dedicated to Mothers I’d Like to Fuck, www.CougarLife.com etc. stand as a clear testament to this. Compounding years of ridicule and the inevitable piss-on-this pregnancy test required after being some guy’s last-ditch effort at the bar in Applebee’s at 1:30 am has forced these thirty-somethings to realize what they should have 15 years earlier: either you’re hot and you get what you want, or you’re not and you have to get a job like a man.
Get with the program high school chicks and stop being pleasure delayers. You are eating your way through the best years of good American mens lives, and then making us feel inadequate when we have finally worked long enough to have developed the financial portfolio and experience required to approach you, but now also have developed the sedentary job gut to match. Let’s go back to the old days, shall we?
Get with the program high school chicks and stop being pleasure delayers. You are eating your way through the best years of good American mens lives, and then making us feel inadequate when we have finally worked long enough to have developed the financial portfolio and experience required to approach you, but now also have developed the sedentary job gut to match. Let’s go back to the old days, shall we?
What high school chick doesn’t want to have copious amounts of $6 vodka mixed with Country Time Pink Lemonade and Nyquil shoved down her throat by a vascular 24 year old in a backwards hat and ironically tight t-shirt? What better way to end a weekend than by awaking upon a sheetless mattress on the floor after having potentially consensual sex with a complete stranger amongst other twenty-somethings all doing the same thing? Plus, practice makes perfect; so when you turn 35, you’ll be more than prepared to do it all over again!
Allison Stokke.... WOW, just WOW. I need a time machine
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