Prom Night Nightmare

Two miracles occurred that I never would have guessed: I asked her to the Prom, for one, and second, she said yes. The girl I had it bad for since early seventh grade; the picture of perfection: Ms. Kimmie Lynne Slade. I pulled up to her house, looking stellar in my tux. I try to front modesty, but honestly I looked like a million bucks. She emerged from her front door. The moment was surreal. An angel descending from Heaven, but with much more sex appeal. My eyes were tearing up; not because I was going to cry. Earlier, I accidentally sprayed Binaca in my eye. Kimmie floated towards my car. Her legs long, smooth, and tan. In a dress sure to impress and shorter than my attention span.

Her hair was long and flowing. Her eyes were as bright as her smile. Most of her skin was showing. I was grinning from ear to ear, looking a bit like Gomer Pyle. I opened the passenger’s door, letting her in with careful attention. And did I forget to mention that her behind is borderline divine intervention? I closed the door and ran around the back of the car, clapping my hands with glee. I was going to the Prom with Kimmie Lynne Slade and she was going with me. We shared some smalltalk driving along and, as we were crossing a bridge, she was distracted, so I adjust the rear-view and got me a peek at that cleavage. Then there was silence. And that’s when it happened. How was I to know? It crept up like a phantom. Hit like a stun gun. Kimmie Lynne Slade… Let one go.

I was in shock at first. We both played it off. But with time it got worse. I began to gasp and cough. It was starting to get to me. The stink was just looming. I peeked at her out of the corner of my eye to make sure she was still human. I tried to open my window but the damn crank was stuck. I tugged and pulled thinking, “MAN, WHAT THE…” I regained my composure amidst the cloud of death. Focusing on the road while trying to hold my breath. Neither of us said a word. The silence was deafening. It was better that way. We needed to conserve oxygen. My fine little philly was smelling like a horse. How could such a ferocious stench come from such a delicate source? And then a rumble that on the Richter Scale would have been marked around ten. I looked straight ahead in disbelief thinking, “Here we go again!” P.U. Round two. Out with the old, in with the new. Waiting for the other bomb to pass, along comes the second blast. She turned away in shame. But she wasn’t to blame. It was those demons possessing her ass!

Her face was bright red. Mine, a light shade of pale. A lot of things went through my head. Like, “are we going too fast for me to open the door and bail?” I was thinking of where to retreat; maybe I’d dive into the backseat. I was in Hell’s kitchen and couldn’t stand the heat. And speaking of kitchen… what the Hell did she eat? This isn’t what I ordered. I should have kept the receipt. My eyes were getting misty, due to the horrible smell. Suddenly Ms. America was Ms. Taco Bell. Driving with the Intestinally Challenged I do not recommend. Mercifully, we made it to the prom and this nightmare came to an end. I opened up the door and fell to my knees, thanking God for being alive, while taking in the breeze. As she walked by me, I must confess, I was looking for skidmarks on the back of her dress. The rest of the night was a gas, so to speak. And as for the day’s earlier events – I turned the other cheek. But if you’re out on a date and you think you’ve got it made, cause your girl is quite the catch. If that girl is Kimmie Lynne Slade, let me warn you my friend…

Do not light a match.

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