Despite some minor evidence to the contrary -- a few flecks of white around the temple and the distinguished good looks to go with them -- I like to think that I'm still a young man. It's evidenced in my hip, but not trendy taste in music and manner of dress, my taut muscles, and my remarkable endurance. To wit, oftentimes I wander the malls of America. Whether I'm there picking up a copy of the latest Sum 41 long player or to try on some Jamz-style short pants at Pacific Sunwear, or "Pac Sun" as I like to call it, the high school-aged young ladies often stop and stare, obviously intrigued as much by my cool taste as they are by my ass. Of course, when I meet their eyes with a sly wink or playful smile, they avert their gazes and hurry off in the direction of Orange Julius and mall security, but I know they only do it so I can better behold their denim-cinched behinds.

Still, a lot has changed since I was in high school. In my day, a friend's "cool mom" was someone who agreed to drop you off a block from the Anthrax concert so it would look like you walked, or who couldn't tell when you took half the Southern Comfort and watered down the remainder to cover your tracks.

But times have changed, and, if you're in high school, they've changed for the better. Nowadays a friend's cool mom buys you meth and weed and bangs you. Take Sylvia Johnson, for example. In my day, most moms seemed interested primarily in making your teenaged years as lame as theirs. Not Sylvia. According to court papers, Johnson told investigators she was not popular in high school and, after blowing some rails of meth with the kids and sucking them off, she had finally started "feeling like one of the group." Apparently she then told police that she was a "cool mom."

And how, Sylvia. And how.

Analogcabin @ 9:28 AM
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