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from: Doug Kenney
It's been over 20 years since Doug Kenney fell from a 2,000-foot cliff in Hawaii. Here is my favorite story by the most perverted funny man of our time.
A Young Girl's
Senior Prom Can Mean Many Things:
"Connie! Connie Phillips! You'd better hurry, Jeff will be here any minute!"
Mrs. Phillips's call from downstairs found Connie, still in her freshly ironed slip, sitting cross-legged on the bedspread to put the finishing touches on her nails. A startled glance at the clock on the bureau reaffirmed her mother's warning - it was almost half past seven. Fanning the air with her hands to dry the polish, Connie gulped and hurried to dress.
Carefully, she drew the sheer nylons over her tan, athletic legs and slipped on the white organdy gown that hung in its plastic bag on her closet door. (Thank heaven Mrs. Phillips had relented at the store in her preference for the green taffeta - a high-necked confusion of bows, flounces, and spaghetti straps that looked more like a circus tent than a party frock.)
Connie fastened the three simple strands of cultured pearls around her neck and took the rhinestone bracelet Mrs. Phillips had lent her especially for tonight from the dressing table. Blotting her cherry-frost lipstick on a tissue and giving her pert, blond curls one last flick with her brush, Connie sighed and stepped back from the mirror for final inspection.
Looking at the unfamiliar figure who peered back from the glass with equally wide-eyed astonishment, Connie suddenly felt a curious sense of elation. What this afternoon was only a gum-snapping, floppy-shirted teen with one ear glued to the telephone and the other permanently cocked toward the hi-fi had been miraculously transformed somewhere between this afternoon's bubble bath and that teetering test-walk in her new yellow satin pumps-into an undeniably attractive, grown-up woman.
Good looks aren't a passport to a happy and productive life, Connie reminded herself as she lingered another moment before the mirror, but is it wrong to know you're pretty and be glad of it...at least for one special night?
"Hey, nobody told me Grace Kelly was in here! I wonder where that dumb old Connie is?" Connie started from her reverie and quickly flushed with embarrassment as she saw Didi's reflection behind her. Didi Phillips was a pesky, pug-nosed, freckle-faced imp who Connie's parents persisted in maintaining was her own little sister.
"And I suppose no one told you it's impolite to barge into other people's rooms without knocking either?" retorted Connie, whirling around to confront her impudent sibling. "No-o, but I hear you can get stuck-up from looking at mirrors too long," Didi returned airily. "Anyway, Prince Charming's in the living room getting the third degree from Mom an' Pop, so you'd better trot on down before he shrivels up like a raisin."
Snatching her handbag from the bureau, Connie brushed by Didi and, pausing at the top of the stairs to take a deep breath, descended in a slow "ladylike" manner to the living room where she found Jeff sitting on the couch chatting amiably with her parents. Everyone turned toward Connie as she appeared and Jeff, rising to stand, stared at her with an appreciative grin.
"Ho-ly Bananas," exclaimed Jeff, malting a comical bow, "I didn't know I had a date with a movie star!" "And I didn't know I had a date with such a smoothie!" laughed Connie, joining in the general amusement. "Oh yes," chuckled Mr. Phillips as he lit his pipe, "Jeff and I have just been discussing that forty-yard pass he made against Hillcrest last season, and now I see why you think he's such a 'dreamboat'!"
For the second time that evening, Connie blushed, then joined Jeff, whose tan, athletic good looks were set off by merry blue eyes and a bow tie in a smart green plaid. "Now, Wayne," said Mrs. Phillips, "leave the jokes to Jack Benny and let the children go - they don't want to sit around listening to us."
"You're right, Ruth," said Mr. Phillips sheepishly as he knocked the ashes from his pipe and slipped it into the pocket of his cardigan sweater. "You know, it wasn't until you came down those stairs that I realized what a beautiful young woman my little Connie has become." "Oh Daddy, don't be silly," chided Connie affectionately, as she kissed her father's cheek. "You know I'll always be 'your little girl'."
"I know you will," said Mr. Phillips, and I also know that Jeff is a fine boy - but there'll be other fine lads around when you go to State in the fall, so I'd like you to promise a pre-historic old dad one thing..."
"Sure Daddy," said Connie, giving a mock conspiratorial wink to Jeff over her father's shoulder, "what is it?" "Just promise me," said Mr. Phillips, fumbling for his pipe cleaners, "that no matter how wonderful the dance may be tonight, and no matter what Jeff and you may be feeling ... promise me that you won't give him a blowjob."
"A w-what?" stammered Connie, backing away slightly. "A blowjob," Mr. Phillips repeated. "You know, when a fellow forces his dork down your throat and makes you suck on it until he eventually shoots his pecker-snot all over your tonsils."
In the silence that followed, Connie, suddenly quite pale, looked beseechingly from Mrs. Phillips to Jeff, both of whom could only avert their eyes to the carpet. "Oh my God," gasped Connie, "th-that's... horrible... sickening..!" "You bet it is," replied Mr. Phillips, puffing his pipe alight, "just ask your mother."
Once in Jeff's convertible, Connie tactfully passed over Mr. Phillips's unusual behavior and admired the single, perfect white gardenia Jeff had brought. "What a gorgeous flower," she said as she admired the blossom in Jeff's rear view mirror, "but you shouldn't have spent so much!"
"Oh, a couple of weekends at hard labor on my pop's lawn mower, Jeff admitted, "but seeing how fabulous you look wearing it makes it a bargain." "It is a grand evening, isn't it?" Connie said, inhaling the fresh late spring greenery as they sped along Lakeshore Drive to the prom.
"And a grand date for me," Jeff returned. "I feel like the luckiest senior in the history of Parkdale High." "And I'm the luckiest girl." Connie smiled. "After all, it isn't everybody who goes to the Spring Bounce with Jeff Madison - co-captain of the Varsity Football Team, chairman of the Student Senate, and Hi-Tri-Y activities coordinator!"
"Aw, cut the soft-soap," Jeff laughed. "Let's just say that we're both lucky before we get swelled heads!" "Fun ahoy!" Jeff sang as he turned off Glenview Boulevard into the already crowded parking lot. "Last one on the dance floor is a wallflower!"
"Not me!" cried Connie excitedly, "and you'd better've eaten your Cheerios because I'm not going to sit out a single dance!"
The Senior Bounce was everything Connie hoped it would be, and together with Jeff she floated and swayed to the lilting rhythms of fox trots, sambas, and polkas until Connie thought her heart would burst.
"I have to powder my nose," said Connie, excusing herself at the break as the crowd eagerly gathered at the tempting tables of Hawaiian Punch and gingersnaps. For Connie it was a perfect evening, or almost perfect, for when Connie went to the coat rack to get a handkerchief from her wrap, she overheard Mary Ellen Peterson and Doris Wilkins whispering by the drinking fountain. "Doesn't Connie Phillips look... sophisticated tonight?" said Mary Ellen archly.
"Who wouldn't," Doris sniffed, "with that swanky rhinestone bracelet of her mother's?" "Well," said Mary Ellen, "she certainly seems to have Jeff Madison on a string. Do you think they'll get engaged?" "Maybe," said Doris vaguely, "although I can't imagine Connie not minding Jeff's personality problems..." At that point Connie "accidentally" dropped her compact and the two gossips, both red-faced, ended their discussion in mid-meow.
"Hel-lo girls," said Connie. "Did I hear you mention Jeff?" "W-well, as a matter of fact," began a flustered Mary Ellen, "I was just this minute telling Doris that ... with a personality like Jeff's he certainly has no problem snagging the most popular girl in Parkdale!" "Oh," said Connie uncertainly.
The band tuned up again, but this time as Connie whirled around the floor in Jeff's appreciative arms, her happiness was clouded by the snatch of conversation she had overheard in the Ladies Room. Even the intoxicating, quicksilver arpeggios of the accordion could not drown out the two false notes in the evening. Personality problems....blowjob ... personality problems ... blowjob, a small, nagging voice kept repeating.
Too soon, the band struck up "Good Night Ladies" and it was time to go. Connie and Jeff were invited to join some of the crowd at the Snack Shoppe for post-prom munchables and, it was darkly hinted, some good-natured hijinx. But Jeff begged off and, as he held Connie's hand, shyly murmured that there was something he wished to ask her alone.
As they drove away under a sky pin-pointed with stars, Connie noticed that he was strangely silent. Finally, she asked Jeff if something was troubling him. "Yes, Connie, there is something," Jeff replied as he turned off Lakeshore Drive onto Clinton Avenue. Without a word, he reached into his breast pocket and offered Connie a tiny, velvet-covered box.
She still was staring at the unopened box in her hand when Jeff pulled off Clinton Avenue into a deserted alley next to the Apex Dry Cleaners.
"Oh Jeff, I don't know what to say," Connie began. "I know we've talked about marriage, but I really feel we both should complete our college education at State before I could even think of accepting your ring." Jeff shut off the motor and turned questioningly to Connie. "State... marriage...ring?" Jeff said puzzledly. "I'm not going to the State College. My folks are sending me to the State Mental Hospital - that box I gave you has a couple of Dramamines in it so you don't gag too much when you give me my blowjob." "Y-your what?" said Connie tonelessly.
"My blowjob," Jeff explained. "You know, when a guy crams his meat into your gullet and you eat on it until he goes spooey all over your uvula."
"Aaah!" Connie screamed, fumbling at the door handle. "No! Jeff, no!" But before she could escape, Connie felt inhumanly powerful hands seize her by the neck and force her head down below the dashboard. There, plainly revealed in the green fluorescent glow of the "Apex" sign, Connie saw Jeff's tan, athletic penis straining toward her.
"Oh, God, please no!" Connie pleaded a last time before Jeff pried her clenching jaws apart with his powerful thumbs and began by inches, to introduce his swollen flesh past her cherry-frost lipstick. As Jeff plunged and withdrew with piston like insistence, Connie felt her glottis constrict involuntarily, seizing the intrusive column.
"Atta girl, Connie," encouraged Jeff, "shake hands with it!"
At last Jeff rose to his final, shuddering spasm and Connie felt a wad of viscous fluid splatter off her palate and lowly begin to trickle through her vitals.
"Not bad for a beginner," reassured Jeff as he tied Connie's wrists and ankles to the steering wheel with his matching plaid suspenders. "You should learn to breathe through your nose, though," he added thoughtfully.
When Connie was firmly trussed and secured to the wheel, Jeff excused himself and returned a few moments later wearing a makeshift Nazi uniform, a snapped-off car aerial clutched in his hand.
"Gee," exclaimed Jeff as he began to lash out viciously at her unprotected body, "I've been wanting to try this ever since I first heard Negro music!"
It was many minutes past midnight when a blue convertible screeched to a stop in front of the Phillips's home. A car door could be heard opening, and, under the yellow radiance of the streetlight, a limp weight was kicked from the automobile onto the sidewalk before it roared off with a muffled growl.
Slowly, the girl began to stir. Connie, still only semiconscious, opened her eyes to a brilliant starscape. This puzzled her because she had landed face first. Sky up, not down - Connie reminded herself with the characteristic common sense that had made her one of the most popular seniors at Parkdale, why stars on ground? - Then, as her eyes began to focus, Connie realized that the twinkling array before her was not stars, but a scattering of precious rhinestones on the pavement.
"Uh-oh, gonna get it now,..." Connie sang to herself sadly as she crawled across the moist green lawn to her door. Hauling herself to her feet with the aid of a pair of lawn flamingos, Connie used them as simple crutches to stagger the last few steps to the front porch. There, she collapsed and began to scratch feebly at the screen.
Answering the door, Mr. Phillips was surprised to find Connie's crumpled form on the steps, her half-naked body crisscrossed with red welts and her tattered nylons seamed with thin rivulets of dried blood.
"Well, it certainly looks like you've had your fun," said Mr. Phillips, "do you have an idea what time it is, young lady?"
Connie remained motionless on the steps as Mr. Phillips puffed his pipe angrily. Finally, Mr. Phillips sighed and lifted the dazed girl to her feet and leaned her against the screen door.
"I suppose you think your old Dad's an ancient old stick-in-the-mud," said Mr. Phillips. "But I can sympathize with the problems facing young people today ... heck, you may not believe it, but I'm even 'hep' to a lot of your kookie teen lingo."
With that, Mr. Phillip's fist struck Connie in the face and sent her somersaulting through the screen door back out onto the lawn, the force of his blow immediately closing her right eye.
"Padiddle, for example," chuckled Mr. Phillips.
ANTI POPEYE X FAN CLUB
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