By Djb
What had happened was, I gotta offer props to, in no particular order: Pamie. Also Stee, Heather, Jessica, Megyn, Ray, and the singularly-named MVP of my heart, "Dave." Who loves you, Dave? We do. We all do. Also, Jen, thanks for dinner. And VM, happy birthday. And a final screw you to the entire city of Rockford, Illinois. Really -- go to hell. Your files always sucked anyway.
Oh, good. School. Maria's classroom montage very badly wants us to know the following: "It was just one kiss! A moment of weakness. I doubt it went any further than that." "Hey, Tone Loc?" "Yeah, Djb?" "Hey Tone, ring the Irony Bell, school's back in!" "You got it, Djb! I got time for bell ringing! I was just getting off my shift at Modell's anyway. For the best, most affordable sporting goods around, you gotta go to Mo's!" "Settle down, Tone." "Sorry."
Great Wall of China. Light atop the Luxor. Max Evans's pecs. I'll have "manmade objects visible from space for $500 please, Alex." Poor Tess. One un-I-hate-you-tramp glance from the king, and she goes down faster than a French prizefighter. Anyway, it's sexy nighttime that greets us inside Brigadoon Observatory. Under a high-powered telescope, through which the words "my remaining interest in this series" are barely visible from deep space, the intertwined bodies of Max "I Believe In Miracles, Since You Came Along, You Pecs-y Thing" Evans and Tess "G'day, Soulmate" Harding lie sleeping. The folks down at Music Supervision have decided to commemorate this fated coupling with the strains of Mazzy Star's "Fade Into You," because as aliens and humans alike know, there's no better sexual position than that hot, hot lovin' known the world over as "1995." And though I was in college and, admittedly, using this song for every ounce of its cheesy hook-up potential freshman year, the age we're supposed to believe these kids are would have put them at around twelve when this song hit its middling peak. And I know how I get in the sexy way when I hum along with Songs In The Key Of My Own Awkward Puberty, which is why I'm saying you should avoid the basic area of my apartment whenever those sex-drenched anthems of "Wild, Wild West" and "Walk The Dinosaur" come on, unless you have some serious interest in a little naked time at Chez Djb. Boom, boom, aka-laka-laka boom. If you know what I mean. And I'm thinking you do. Monster hits of the mid-90s rages up even further as Max stirs and looks around Brigadoon Observatory. Feeling the sudden Richter Scale rumbling underneath her as the continental divide of the pecs drifts and the nipples sprout oil, Tess is forced to squirm ever so slightly as well. Hey. Hey. Max takes her head at the nine and three position (oh, man, I hate it when guys…oh, that's not what he's doing. Never mind) and burrows it deep into his gleaming upper body. Tess is all, "Hey, I can see my reflection in there and…glub, glub, help!" Max smiles the creepy smile of 1995 post-coital bliss. Because he loves her eyes and her wild, wild hair. They dance to the beat that they like best. Headin' for the 90s, livin' in the Wild, Wild West. Wild West!