In 8th grade, I thought myself quite the badass. I wore black studded bracelets. I had a boyfriend who was a skater. I wore high-water Wranglers and heather gray t-shirts relentlessly. I thought that I had seen and heard of everything in my infinite teenage wisdom. I was too cool for everything.
Then a company called ABSTINENCE RAD! came to teach sex-ed to my class. They were hired by the State of Colorado, a state known for having no fucking clue what its true values are, unless someone has pot brownies, in which case, values.
At the time, Colorado required sex-ed from 5th-8th grade, because the State Motto is “Discretion is the polio of puberty.” By this point, I knew that boys could pop boners, I knew that you could not pee on a pad in lieu of a toilet (a real question fielded by the first girl who got knocked up in my class) and I knew that sex was a thing that Colorado really, really did not want for anyone for any reason. Unless pot, in which case, sex.
“Whatever, motherfuckers,” I thought to my obliviously-nerdy self. “Bring on the period talk, I got this shit.”
What I was not prepared for, however, was that Colorado knew 8th grade was their last chance to reach your evil masturbating souls, so it was the year to really swing for the fallopians.
A poodle-haired woman dressed in a cherry-red tapered power-suit sat as uncomfortably as possible on a stool in the middle of the room, the desks arranged around her in a real-talk semicircle. No teacher was present. Both projector screens were deployed; the realness of the situation was palpable. Poodly-Doo was about to rock our world with hate sex.
Poodly-Doo began the class by turning off the lights and stating that if we were uncomfortable, we were free to look away at any time. I was immediately incensed with the idea that we were about to see some unwanted tits from under her acetate wondersuit, but instead she brought up a slide of a taint–just a taint–ravaged with super herpes. I couldn’t look away. It was like seeing Bryce Canyon under a pair of balls.
If you have herpes, I am so sorry, because what I saw was horrifying. I will never judge you. I will only hurt for you.
She immediately launched into more and more slides of syphilitic cheeks (IT’S A THING), jock itch (NOT ACTUALLY AN STD), and sad tweens holding babies. It was a mindfuck. If I were deaf, I would have thought that when you become pregnant as a teen, your taint explodes, your cheeks are eaten away, and you get a chapped sack–all of which is wildly incorrect.
We were shown a diagram informing us of just how many people we really fucked with if we ever had sex even just once. The answer was about 36 trampy-ass women and at least 7 gay dudes, because apparently using homosexuality as a teen-pregnancy scare tactic was totally above-board because of course you would do that. Lesson I took from it? Every man you know has slept with a dude. Learnding, Colorado Style.
45 minutes in, everyone in the room was terrified of even looking at another person’s crotch for fear your own would spontaneously erupt in Bryce Canyon and the screams of the damned. Poodle VonDoodlier then turned on the lights and returned to her ‘just hangin’ with my pals’ stance on her stool. This is the point where the condoms should be tugged onto bananas, dashing the confidence of every middle-school boy in the nation. This is the point where ‘no, I won’t have sex with you on your Camaro because of standards’ methods of turning people down are discussed. This is the point where we’re told that if we’re smart about our bidness, we probably won’t die of Devil Aids.
It was the point where Poodly-Doo began to cry. Terrible, wracking sobs came from deep within her alarmingly-stiff suit made us all feel as though somehow we’d disappointed Poodly with our horror.
“I have to schedule sex with my husband,” Poodly said through her tears. “I can’t manage myself, so every month we have to set up special days that we circle in purple on our calendar that he can put his penis in me without fear of losing control.”
Holy shit, I thought. Is this woman’s vagina The Hulk? What is going on?
“We have to time it too or I lose myself in the moment and everyone ends up hurt. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up like me. A sad lady teaching a class about STD’s who has to schedule sex with a husband who doesn’t love her anymore. Just last week he had to come and pick me up from the mall where I was sobbing because it was a purple circle day.”
The bell rang right then, leaving no time for further insight as to why this pattern of behavior had come about. I have always felt kind of sorry for Poodly, sitting on her stool of sadness with her probably sex-addiction and guaranteed STD Bingo. I have never known what to make of that day, and it still sticks in my mind as a wild outlier on the chart of How Days Should Go.
I still question whether her deeply-unsettling calendar speech was part of the program, or if Poodly just straight-up broke down in front of a room full of 8th graders. In either situation, the prospect is abysmally terrible. In either situation, an entire 8th grade class and an unknown number of future and past generations were left with the understanding that sex, even just once, causes unhinged sex addiction, super-herpes, Hepatitis, AIDS, Hulk Vagina, homosexuality, demons, crop failures, and Kim Kardashian.
Happy Back-To-School. Enjoy your renewed faith in the educational system in imparting critical life knowledge on your children.
What’s your weirdest school experience?– Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Dana The Biped: “Give it a few years. The joke will still be funny, but the dick will be old. That makes it especially funny.”