I can see what's going to happen already. I'll pull up in my sports car to my beautiful date's suburban house in a tree-lined American suburb, brilliantly attired in a well fitting tuxedo and clutching a beautiful boquet of flowers and chocolates. I'll be invited into the beautiful house by the two ultra-beautiful parents and we shall make small talk around the beautiful coffee table before my date walks down the stairs. Then we'll all go into slow motion for a minute while she walks down the stairs, looking BEAUTIFUL in a BEAUTIFUL diamond-encrusted designer dress and smiling beautifully. Then we'll speed off in the car to the prom, which will be in FULL SWING by the time we get there. It will be full of beautiful couples dancing to loud non-threatening popular music, in a beautifully decorated hall. People will be drinking, but there'll be no drunkeness. We shall dance, me and my beautiful date, then we shall get elected King and Queen of the prom. Then we'll zoom off in the sports car and have sex on the nearby beach (beautiful, of course), before getting into a brief, exciting fight with the beautiful captain of the football team. Then we'll speed back to the prom where some black guy will be playing some song on a guitar, and we'll all dance. Then there'll be a slow zoom out into the air. Then I'll travel back to the present time in my rocket powered time travelleling wonder-car with my amazing scientific buddy, Doctor Harris. Or whatever.
Well, that's been the pattern of events for every prom that I've attended.
Number of proms that I have ever attended: 0.
Damn those americans and their fancy TV proms. Damn them to hell. Now, how is it going to be in reality? Well, first I say we decipher the 'classic' (read: American) version of the prom, to see where the differences lie. Well, I can think of one. In real life, people in prom dresses do not walk down the stairs gracefully in slow motion - they are not ultra fit divas of love and grace, unfortunately. In real life, people in prom dresses look like this:
I have to applaud the photographer for her incredible framing of this shot. Also, it's not obvious from this picture, but Steve and Emma are actually siamese twins! They are joined together at the ends of their arms.
In real life, people look crap when they're dressed up. Take me for example. Now, everybody knows that I am the coolest guy in the world ever. I also manage to make any bizarre combination of clotheing look fucking styling with my rebel cools. I mean, I even managed to pull off wearing shorts, white tshirt and high visibility jacket. Sweet. Yet, despite my obvious manliness, I look shit in a tuxedo. The shirt chokes the wind out of me and the bow tie is like A NOOSE AROUND MY NECK. A NOOSE. And what's more, this is a tuxedo that my DEAD GRANDFATHER used to wear. And that's, like, the only reason I like wearing it. Yes, you heard me. A plus is that this tuxedo used to have a dead person in it. Not LITERALLY (he didn't ACTUALLY die in it, although that would be a serious plus), but it's nice to know that something you own has a bit of history to it. DO YOU KNOW that my tuxedo used to be owned by JAMES BOND? No? Well good, because it wasn't. However, Grandfather (dead one) use to work on the Bond Flicks - he actually featured in The Man In The Golden Gun; have a look in the background of the casino scene for a guy with a mustache - and he purchased this tux in the style of bond.
So what does that mean? I've actually lost track of what I was talking about. I swear that this post had something to do with a prom. It now seems to have turned into a description of my dead grandfather's movie career. Oh yeah, right, the prom. Me in a tuxedo. Right. Well, Cassie (my 'date', wink wink) I seriously wouldn't get your hopes up. To be honest, I think that you'd have been better off going with your stalker. And here's why.
A list of reasons why I am going to be shit at this prom
Me in a tuxedo
We've already covered this, but just to get the image across. When any man puts on a tuxedo, no matter who he is, here is the image that he is trying to achieve:
Ah, Shaun Connery, you non-crazy Scotsman, you. So thats's what I want to look like. And, here's the image that I'm probably going to present on the night:
Yeesh. Oh well, at least I won't look like that guy with no face. At least that's something to be grateful for.
Dancing
I don't dance. Period. Actually, amend that to: I don't dance without being plied with mind-numbing toxins beforehand. And then, even when drunk, my dancing is broken down into a little thing which I like to call 'funky walking'. That's right, you just walk very slowly up and down, moving your legs in a crazyifying metronomic way, back and forth. Kind of like skiing, but more groovy. You get me? No, you probably don't. But be assured, it's pretty damn cool. Groovesome, even.
But waltzing? Nope. You'd have to kidnap a member of my family and hold them hostage before you get me dancing. And not just ANY member of my family. It would have to be a good one. Mother or father at the very least. Siblings? Fuck off, you can cut off their genitalia for all I care, I sure as hell ain't waltzing.
Unless, of course, any of the music from Pulp Fiction comes on. In that case, all bets are off.
Alcohol
There had better be some alcohol at this thing, I'm telling you. Unless, of course, you want one very angry Thomas on your hands. I'll need alcohol to get through this thing without actually killing something.
Me
I'm not going to take this very seriously, am I?
Oh boy.
AAAAAAAND now I'm done. Smile.
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