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March 8, 2010 | by  | in Opinion |
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Pashin’ on campus

Pashin' on Campus

Don’t worry this column is about nothing

Boys and girls wanna hear a true story?

Saturday night, was at this toga party.
They had the liquor overflowin’ the cup—about five or six students trying to work for a buck
And I took one girl outside with me, her name was Gina, she went to Hastings High with me.
I said, “Why you up in there dancing for cash? I guess a whole lot has changed since I pashed you last”
She said:
What would you do if you wanted to bone?
Crying all alone in the Vic Books store, cos you’re horny
And the only way to treat it is to get with a babe
That you saw in the library, and his buddy’s gone
Somewhere suckin’ cock now, with an upside down frown,
I aint givin’ jobz now, so for you this is just a good time
But for me this is what I call LIFE.

If you didn’t get the song reference, you obviously never owned Now That’s What I Call Music 9 and had NO FRIENDS at primary school, or ever. (The answer is ‘What Would You Do?’ by City High).

Mothla is in the kitchen cooking a delicious green curry for dinner. She’ll probably put heaps of delicious vegetables in it. In one second I am going to ask her: “Moth, what is the first thing you think of when I say PASHING?” She has a zucchini in her hand, which is kind of like a green willy legume, eh? You get me. I’m not sure if that’s funny or even relevant. Probs neither/nor.

She says: “Really gross… like really gross teenagers… with pimples. And they are really excited about their first kiss. They are gross AND they get WAAAY too into it and like stick their tongues right down there AND the muscles in their throats are like… straining (here she massages her throat with thumb and forefinger and pulls a face like a dog vomming on its gross jelly meat dinner). OH, and sometimes you hear this sound like ‘sccchhhlllppp’. Yeah, that’s it.”

Me: “I’m quoting you.”

Mothla: “Okay. Just don’t mention my name please.”

Me: “I already did. You’re too late.”

Mothla: “Okay. That’s okay I guess.”

The zucchweenie is totally chopped into little discs. Poor thing. I think about what I would have said, if the same question were posed to me. I think pashin’ is nice.

“OH. I can’t get the images out of my head! F*ck, their pimples are popping against one another. AND THEY’RE STILL WEARING THEIR BACK PACKS.”

Mothla moans, pulling her triangle-mouthed, squinty-eyed face which means everything from “Oh, you!” to *vomits* to “You are such dead meat”.

“Ha,” I laugh, “ha ha ha.”

Well, here we are at the end of the column. What did we learn? NOTHING. Who cares? NOT ME. Who wants dinner now? I DO. Have I ever pashed on campus? NO. What do I know about anything? NOT MUCH.

Maybe tell me what you think about pashin’ on campus—not the column (what column?), the ACT. OR maybe I will pretend to be a 1970s American sex-ed specialist and answer some saucy Qs, eh? Eh. You can call me Doctor Lame and the moral will ALWAYS be: you will die a painful death if you have premarital intercourse.

Done. Period. Uhm, LOL? Punctuation pun. PUNctuation. I’m pleased with that.

P.S. Here is the first potential campus location that you could potentially use to pash someone with potential: At your house.

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