by Shane Dawson
Kelley: That’s what I was going for.
Her dad walked out with a proud look on his face. He asked us to pose for a picture together and we took a few hundred. I’m sure I looked terrible in every one, but it didn’t matter. She was pretty enough for the both of us. Her dad walked over to me and gave me the “take care of her” speech, which was incredibly uncomfortable but also kind of sweet.
I’m sure most people reading this are thinking he’s an asshole for not letting his daughter go to prom with a girl but this was 2006. I know that doesn’t feel like that long ago, but it really was. There weren’t many openly gay kids at school and the only openly gay guy in Hollywood was Lance Bass, so there weren’t many people to look up to. It’s not like nowadays, where you throw a rock into a crowd and you hit ten gay dudes and five lesbians. Back in ’06 there was only an LGB club at school, and now there’s an LGBTGIA community. It’s pretty amazing what eight years can do.
So our night was off to a good start and it was time to make it even better. We met up with some of our crazy tree friends at a restaurant, just like they do in all those teenager movies. I imagined all of us sitting around in our fancy outfits talking about the sexual adventures we were excited about having that night, but what I got was me and a few of our friends sharing a plate of Taterchos at a Denny’s next to a free clinic.
If you don’t know what Taterchos are, they were a limited option at Denny’s in 2006. Instead of chips, they used tater tots for their nachos, and they were as brutal on your anus as you’d expect.
So as we sat around stuffing our faces with something only homeless people should have been eating out of a trash can, one of my friends grabbed my leg with the strength of an ape. I’m not going to reveal my friend’s name because what happened next should never happen to anyone ever. Especially at Denny’s.
Nameless Friend: [whispering] Shane. I have a problem.
Me: What’s wrong?
Nameless Friend: I got a visitor, if you know what I mean.
Me: Oh God, is your cousin Billy gonna stay with you again? He’s the worst. You know every TV show theme song ever. WE GET IT.
Nameless Friend: No. I have a visitor. You-know-where.
As she pointed to her vagina it took about 5.5 seconds for it all to sink in. My eyes bulged out of my head and I made a loud gasp that was heard by the entire restaurant. What can I say, I’m smooth.
Kelley: What’s going on?
Me: Huh? Oh, nothing. Tot down the wrong pipe.
Kelley: You breathed in a tater tot?
Me: Are you really surprised?
Kelley: I guess not.
Everyone went back to their tots and I turned to my nameless friend. Did I mention she was wearing a WHITE DRESS? The blood on her dress was as obvious as a skid mark on a pair of tighty whities, and trust me, I know my skid-marked tighty whities.
Me: What are you going to do?
Nameless Friend: I don’t know! Can you cover for me?
Me: Like . . . spill ketchup all over you so they don’t see the blood?
Nameless Friend: How did you come up with that plan so fast?
Me: When I was a kid I used to pee my pants, so my brother would dump soda on my lap to hide it.
Nameless Friend: Wow. That’s so sweet and incredibly sad.
Me: So do you want me to do it?
Nameless Friend: I don’t know! Isn’t that worse? Smelling like ketchup at prom and having a huge stain on my dress? Maybe I can just pretend the blood is ketchup.
Me: Ketchup isn’t that dark. Unless it’s organic, and trust me, people know Denny’s doesn’t do organic.
Nameless Friend: Ok, fine. Do it.
So I took a deep breath and then casually squirted a huge pile of ketchup into her lap. I played it off like my hand had slipped, and everyone bought it.
Kelley: Shane! Oh my God! What the fuck?!
Me: Crap! I’m so sorry! I was so excited about the tots that I lost control of my motor skills!
Nameless Friend: It’s ok! I’ll just go to the bathroom and try to clean it off.
Kelley: Here, I’ll go with you and help.
Everyone else at the table stared at me in confusion. I’m guessing they knew something was up, but then our milkshakes came to the table so they were quickly distracted.
After that bloody ordeal it was time to head to the prom. We got to the hotel where the party was happening and it was way fancier than I had expected. There were hanging lights, decorations, and even plastic cups instead of paper ones! It was a huge step up from the ninth-grade Sadie Hawkins dance I had gone to. Although I didn’t technically go to the dance. I was on student council, so I stood outside by the back entrance and made sure nobody got raped.
Kelley and I walked into the party and took a big look around. It was pretty magical. Then right away a group of lesbians danced over to us in a tornado of pussy.
Lesbian Tornado: Hey, Kelley! Come dance with us!!!
Kelley: Maybe later!
Lesbian Tornado: Come on! We requested Evanescence!
Kelley: I do love Evanescence.
Me: Go ahead.
Kelley: Really?
Me: Ya. I can find someone to hang with for a while.
Kelley: Thanks! Save a dance for me?
Me: I’ll save a dance. I probably won’t save a cupcake, but a dance for sure.
Kelley: Deal.
And with that she was sucked up into the tornado of pussy and I didn’t see her till the end of the night. I looked around the room to see what I could do to fill my time. There was a dance circle that my friends were moshing in: no thank you. There was a photo booth with props and dumb hats: nightmare. There was a table filled with desserts and a chocolate fountain: thank God.
I made my way over and set up shop. As I was dunking my tenth Nutter Butter into the cascading waterfall of chocolate, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was my teacher Mrs. Smith, and to say she was slightly intoxicated would be an understatement. From her breath and the fact that she was a grown woman forced to chaperone a prom on her night off, I’m going to assume she was alcohol-poisoning-level wasted. She was the kind of teacher who you knew wanted to be a rock star and teaching had been her fallback. I always enjoyed her class, mainly because she would let us sleep whenever she had a hangover.
Mrs. Smith: What are you doing over here?
Me: Raising my risk of type 2 diabetes.
Mrs. Smith: You don’t already have that?
Me: I know, I’m an underachiever.
Mrs. Smith: You should be out there dancing!
Me: Me? Dance? I’d rather die while masturbating and be found by my mother.
Mrs. Smith: That was specific.
Me: I think about it a lot. Every time I masturbate I think, “This could be it. Maybe I should leave a note.”
Mrs. Smith: You do realize I’m your teacher, right?
Me: You do realize you’re drunk, right?
Mrs. Smith: Touché. So, where’s your date?
Me: She ditched me to hang out with her lesbian friends.
Mrs. Smith: Wow. That’s almost so sad it’s hilarious.
Me: Ya. I’m hysterically laughing on the inside. I have to keep shoving Nutter Butters into my mouth to keep the laughter from coming out.
Mrs. Smith: You know, high school doesn’t mean shit.
Me: Excuse me?
Mrs. Smith: Everyone thinks it’s so important. Being popular, going on dates, getting voted prom king. None of it matters. After high school nobody gives a shit. You go to college as a total loser nobody, no matter how cool you were in high school. And then after you graduate college you’re TOTALLY fucked.
Me: You make a lot of sense when you’re drunk.
Mrs. Smith: Hey, ten years from now you’re going to be cooler than any of these kids
. Mark my words. You got something special.
Me: Thanks. Are you trying to have sex with me?
Mrs. Smith: No. Not yet. Maybe in ten years when you aren’t a total loser.
Me: Understandable.
Mrs. Smith: Hey, you wanna dance?
Me: Isn’t that like . . . highly inappropriate? Like Lifetime-movie inappropriate?
Mrs. Smith: Who cares! We only live once!
She took my hand and dragged me to the dance floor. The song changed to a slow jam, making the situation even more awkward, but she didn’t care. She pulled me in close and led me like I was the girl. I had never danced with anyone before in my life and honestly, I was ok with her being my first. What’s better than slow-dancing with your drunk teacher at your senior prom? Nothing. As the song ended the tornado of lesbians came around and dropped Kelley off.
Kelley: Can I cut in?
Mrs. Smith: Of course. I gotta go puke in the parking lot anyways.
Me: Stay classy, Mrs. Smith.
Now that I knew how to dance I grabbed Kelley’s hand and led her through the last song of the night. It was pretty romantic, except for the whole “she’s a lesbian and the thought of me having a penis makes her physically ill” part. We looked at each other and smiled. Yes, maybe it was weird to be going to the prom with your best friend, who had no interest in you whatsoever, but at least we were experiencing this together. And at least neither of us had gotten our period in our white dress. So fine, ok. Maybe it actually wasn’t a total car crash of a prom. It was more of a fender bender with a few scratches and a lot of laughs.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Jacqueline Colunga is a young artist who resides in Lakewood, California. She has always been interested in art and spends her free time painting and drawing. She would love to make a career out of it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank everyone in my life who has given me material for this book. I want to thank my family, who has loved me unconditionally and has always been BRUTALLY honest with me about my haircuts and fashion choices. You guys have given me enough material for ten books. I also want to thank my friends for sticking by my side even though I constantly chew food with my mouth open and always ask if your passive-aggressive tweets are about me. I want to thank my girlfriend, Lisa, for holding my hand in public and not making me walk ten steps behind her. I want to thank my audience, who has supported me since I uploaded my first video to my ShaneDawsonTV YouTube channel in 2008. Without you I would be nothing more than an insecure guy complaining about my life to just my family and friends. Now I have someone else to do that with. Thank you. And lastly, I want to thank God. Dude, you’ve got a sick sense of humor, but luckily so do I. Keep on filling my life with hilarious moments of awkwardness and embarrassment. I’d like this to be the first book of many. It can be like the Harry Potter franchise except instead of a story of a wizard conquering his demons it will be the story of a loser accepting them. Ya, that seems like a fun read!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SHANE DAWSON is a director, actor, comedian, musician, and YouTube vlogger. The New York Times has dubbed him “YouTube’s comic for the under-30 set.” He lives in Hollywood, California. Shane’s full-length film directorial debut, “Not Cool,” will be released in September. Find him on YouTube.com/user/ShaneDawsonTV.
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Interior design by Dana Sloan
Cover Design by Heather Landis
Cover Photograph by Heather Landis
Manufactured in the United States of America
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-1-4767-9154-8
ISBN 978-1-4767-9158-6 (ebook)