The Prom King Gives a Speech
Firstly, let me just say, this is a serious honor. Secondly, I should probably tell you now that I am a thirty-four year old man.
No, seriously. Please stop laughing. I am a grown man. I might look like an eighteen year old boy, but that is only a consequence of unfortunate genetics. My father, for example, resembled a preternaturally pruned Boy Scout on his deathbed.
More laughing, I see. Well, believe what you wish: this is the painful truth. Perhaps you’ve wondered, over our eight hormonal months together, why I’ve insisted on tape-recording every single conversation I’ve had. Pretentious teenaged affectation? If only. Rather, I’ve been spending my time here writing a book (for Random House!) on “the Millenial teenager.” Have any of you seen Never Been Kissed? I see. A few of you. Well, I have not, but I’ve been told that this is sort of a similar situation, here.
Anyway. Some advice, before I retire to my rent-controlled Upper West Side apartment. Forgive me if I get too personal—I have a limo waiting for me outside, and to address each one of you individually would be a waste of limo money. So.
Larry: There is absolutely no shame in being a virgin. Alright, that’s enough everybody, calm down. Like I said, no shame. I myself did not lose my virginity until the age of 23, and even then by accident. So I hope you’ll take solace in the mixtape I’ve left in your locker. When your more attractive peers are making awkward drunken love in beach houses later this evening, you can lie awake in your bedroom knowing that you’re the only guy in school cool enough to know about bands like This Mortal Coil and Cocteau Twins. At least, that’s what I did on my prom night.
Becca: Hopefully now you can understand why I’ve refused to touch you throughout our six month courtship. You’ve been incredibly patient with me. I’d always wanted a girlfriend in high school, but…well, if I look 18 now, you can only imagine the hell high school was for me back then. Your hopes and dreams are admirable (if a bit miguided—you have a terrible voice. There, I just saved you years and years of pain and frustration!), and they will make great fodder for my chapter on Millenials’ conception of fame.
Darwin: You are a very good drug dealer, but perhaps you should reconsider that career path. Or, at least, move out of the weed-ghetto—I suggest starting with OxyContin. And calling me when you do. You have my number.
Mr. Capozzi: Wanna get a drink later?
Ms. Tasker: Ditto, but more suggestively.
Okay, well, I think that’s it. Book should be in stores by September. If you have any questions or concerns you can contact my publicist you can find her info online okay so this has been great bye guys!
