Theophany posted:

When I was growing up in High School I met my High School sweetheart. Unlike a Bruce Springsteen song, she was called Sue, not Mary. Sue and I were going steady for months and one night I took her down to the creek in my 396 Chevy and we knew that night we were gonna go all the way. We parked up, made some small talk and were both nervous. I had the World Series on the radio and goddamn it, it was a close game. It was the bottom of the ninth and we thought that they'd never win. As they played through the tenth innings, the squeeze play paid off and for the life of me I can't remember which darn team won that night. What I remember is Sue's body glistening through the moon roof on that darn Chevy as I climaxed inside her sinewy body.

Eight months later, I flunked High School. Sue was pregnant and for my birthday I got a union card and a wedding coat. My dreams of being a high falutin' Wall Street trader doing coke off the exquisite tits of hookers were dead and buried. Her parents had made me promise to marry her to make sure that there was no bastard child and I lived up to the responsibilities that I had saddled myself with.

When it came to Sue giving birth, the child came out of that once sweet cooch dead. Our child was a stillbirth, a dumpster baby to be thrown out because our darn 1950s medicine couldn't prevent it or find any medical use for the organs that had just been spat out.

To this day, I still get PTSD flashbacks every time I open a can of Sweet Sue's Whole Canned Chicken, which is pretty much what I live off these days. The fleeting moment of hope that a live chicken will slide out of that opening, only to be greeted by the horrific reality. A dead animal sliding out in fluids.







Anybody else got any Springsteen/Meat Loaf/Officer and a Gentleman inspired tales of teenage woe they'd like to get off their chests?

olaf2022 posted:

Jamoke posted:

Nooner posted: