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March 22, 2010 | by  | in Opinion |
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A short account of something that would suck:

Pashin' on Campus

The other day a friend of mine (who would do a huge poo if I mentioned her name and probably still will) walked all the way from Te Aro to Kelburn with her skirt hitched up in her knickers. Total leggy bum view for Africa. “Poor girl… I should probs say something, eh?” is almost certainly what passers-by would have thought to themselves as they were passing by on their way to a location somewhere. Only they didn’t say anything, because they were hypnotised by undulating bum cheeks. Lucky for her she was wearing tights. Super fortunate.

This would suck huge vestibules, man. Walking up the hill by the Student Union Building is enough to make anyone as red as a saveloy, but add the realisation of hitchey skirt knicks and your face would probably explode everywhere and make a huge mess of everything. Even if someone gave you a mop and a bucket to clean your face up, you wouldn’t be able to because your face and eyes would be in shrapnel and smithereens. Sandy Rankine would be enjoying your nose with a nice green salad and a glass of chardonnay. You wouldn’t be able to show your face in public after that. Even if you still had a face.

Speaking of no face, I heard about some lady in France who overdosed on sleeping pills and while she was unconscious her dog ATE HER FACE. When she finally came to she tried to smoke a fag, but got really confused because it kept falling out of her mouth. BECAUSE HER LIPS HAD BEEN NOM’D. Possible moral: Your dog will eat your features AND you will have to quit smoking if you take drugs.

Paragraph one reminds me of the time I went to see my (rather rotund) English teacher. Her fly was down. You could see her lacy knicks. Hitchey Skirt Girl was there with me, and neither of us heard a single word of what the jolly English munchkin said because we were both dying an awkward, awkward death. How long had it been down for? Did the other teachers snigger at her in the staff room when she went to the kitchenette to make a cup of instant/Choysa/PG Tips with whitener? Would she be super shamed out when she went to pull her fly down and it was already down? Would some nasty 14-year-old throw a paper dart at her crotch? Too many awful possibilities. We didn’t say anything.

If you are wondering why this elegant piece of prose was not about pashin’, then you should be ashamed of yourself for judging a column by its title. And maybe you should learn to read between the lines. Yeah, duuuude.

Jorje (pron. Hor-hay) Del Amore.

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