Who Invited Carrie?

Have you had your high school reunion yet? Did you go? I didn't, and I remember the day I got the letter in the mail, a few years ago...

I thought I could just easily erase it from my memory and let it go like a greased up kidney stone, but alas, this would not pass as effortlessly as I hoped. Had it really been almost 10 years? Even worse, what the fuck had I been doing for the past 10 years anyway? I'm pretty sure my guidence counselor hadn't fit "Drunken Degenerate Hack Writer" into the equation when we sat down and discussed my future plans some 10 long years ago. Hell, I wanted to be an astronaut. Now I'm just an ass, with my head in the clouds and one foot in an earthly grave. Why the sudden pang of angst? What foul and unwanted beast doth sank it's evil claws into my brain? A simple 8x10 letter that arrived in the mail.

I checked the mail like any other day, stumbling outside and cursing the dreaded day star for being so bold and brilliant to reveal my pasty visage to the neighborhood. I clicked open my mailbox, expecting the usual daily deluge of bills, paternity suits, eviction notices, my monthly issues of Modern Drunkard, Swank, and Highlights For Children, along with a possible check for that one porno flick I made, only to discover that motherfucker staring me in the face. I gasped and ripped it open, fingers trembling not from drunken tremors but from terror, and threw it to the ground cursing the heavens after I had read it.

"Dear Johnny,

You are cordially invited to attend "Douchebag Cokehead Preppy Fuckstick" High's class of '94 HIGH SCHOOL REUNION! See your old friends! Enjoy a wonderful dinner and open bar! Catch up on old times and discuss future plans! RSVP ASAP STFU!"

Damn them, those bastards. They found me. All these years, after switching up my address a total of 247 times and managing to successfully avoid a total of 37 collection agencies, somehow my shitty high school where I spent 2 years (I dropped out, fuck off) plotting the demise of each and every shithead that ever pissed me off long before the Columbine kids made it seem "trendy", those sons of bitches found me and wanted to drag me back. Not this time. Fuck that, and fuck them. I humilate myself enough everyday just walking to the corner store for cigarettes, let alone have to subject myself to mingling with the cocksuckers who didn't want anything to do with me or my friends so long ago. Besides, now that I'm back living close to where I grew up, I see those motherfuckers everyday at the other end of the bar I frequent...and I STILL manage to avoid having to talk to them. Now you want to trap me in a sweaty VFW hall with EVERYONE I went to school with? Awwwwwww, hell no.

Why, you may ask, is my school called Douchebag Cokehead Preppy Fuckstick High? Because that's what it was filled with, plain and simple. Nothing good could ever come from me going back and visiting the rest of those lousy fuckers.

Nothing.

Case in point, not too long ago a friend of mine, not a complete Douchebag Cokehead Preppy Fuckstick but still coming damn close, invited me to attend a ol' fashioned backyard keg party. "Everyone will be there, Johnny...EVERYONE. You have to go.", he said. Foolishly and already half drunk, I said sure. Now, I avoided such gatherings like a rampant case of the Tijuana Trots back in the day, because they always amounted to two things by the end of the night. One, a fight is going to break out, and two, the keg is going to be filled with some shitty watered down beer. Plus, I was never invited to these kinds of functions directly, on account that I just wasn't cool enough. I'm still not, but this time I accepted my fate and went to the house party. And when I got there, to no surprise at all, the party was all stink-eye and hard looks towards my direction. All I heard was "Who the hell's the dude with the nosering?" and "What the fuck? Is that motherfucker hitting on my chick? WHAT THE FUCK! He's drinking my beer too!". After three hours, I had managed to avoid 6 fights and drink 14 beers. A good night by count. After all the small talk, and sly jokes on their behalf without them realizing I was actually making fun of them, I settled into a comfortable mode of chain smoking and stealing shots when the hostess came up to me.

Oh Jessica, you scurvy Jew broad, you. I remembered a time back in high school when you were top shit, queen of all you oversaw, and a tyrant towards all the "lesser" people. Sure, you were hot, and you're still kinda hot now too, but I've fucked hotter chicks than you at a much cheaper cost. Now look at you. Stuck with two bastard kids, still living at home, working at the local post office and wasting your liver away at the sports bar. Finally, now you're on MY level, bitch. And there she was, standing in front of me, stinking like Camel Lights and Busch beer, yapping away at me about god knows whatever broads like her yap about when they're drunk, and for a split second I even thought I might be able to take this once unattainable trim and bang her hard and fast and proper in her bathroom. But then she said,

"Well fuck, it's been TOO long man, I haven't seen you in ages. I gotta go make the rounds again, but I'll see you around...

...Fred.

Oh hey, got any coke?"

Um, no, but I've been saving something for you for a looooong time. Bitch. Screw reunions and screw my high school. I'm going in there now like Carrie and burning that bitch down with my latent psychokinesis powers, motherfucker!

Still a goddamned social pariah and known in some circles as "Fred",
Johnny