Metropolitan Police Box. Hammersmith, London. 1948.
"Hello, I’m wondering if I can speak to a doctor please. I’m terribly sorry to take up your time, but a man here has been shot and he seems to need some medical attention. If you can, please get here as quickly as is convinent for you. Thank you, have a nice day."
-Overly Polite British Constable, circa 1948
Holy mother of fuck I want to get out of my shitstorm of a house…
"You know what? Life is really awesome all the time! There’s no one I hate, I get invited to all the parties, I’m in an awesome relationship, I have the best job ever, and my cat actually loves me and doesn’t just use me for food"
-No one ever
Ok, so this is going to be a really long rant, but whatever. Why in the fuck do people freak out about going to their high school dances? Is it really such a big deal to go do that shit? I mean, look, the prices of the tickets are astronomically high, you have to wear fancy, uncomfortable clothes, and probably deal with a whole lot of fucking douchebags you hate.
-pictured here doing what they do best: Athletics!
If you got a girl to take, don’t you think she’d be a lot happier with a nice dinner or a gift or some shit that isn’t delving into a social sess pit of asshats. If you’ve got a guy, he’d probably just be happy to not spend the batshit insane amount of money it costs. Or, maybe, you could go to a real party… Who knows, there’s might be some alcohol there to drown your sorrows about not going to prom in. Also… the limo!
-Oh god… the limo…
Who thought that would be a good idea in the first place? Cram a bunch of douchy kids in monkey suits into one car. Remember every road trip you’ve ever been on? That is the amount of horror I imagine inside that death trap!
Anyways, now that that’s over with I can shut up and let you go about with the rest of your fine labor day weekend. Cheers!