Back to Gomorrah? No thanks

Because I'm crazy, I register on all kinds of weird websites that any ordinary people should stay away from. Like Classmates.com, an elaborate scam designed to collect email addresses and lifestyle information under the guise of connecting alumni of high schools and colleges. For free, you can put your name and a few biographical facts (or fantasies) on their site, so that other pathetic dweebs from your school can find you. But if you buy a premium membership, you get much-expanded "biographical" pages where you can put up lots of evidence that, no matter how long it's been since high school, you are still a total loser. What fun!

Because my (shudder!) 30th high school reunion is coming up, I have received several automated emails, ostensibly from a member of my class, one Chet Hawkins. Back then he was a good-natured, somewhat goony looking footballer. (Then again, back then I was a crabby geek who labored in crypto-fag organizations like the choir and the drama club.) Chet tells me (and everyone else registered on the fateful site from our class) that a 30th reunion is being organized and I should be sure to stay tuned for news.

Well, I've tried hard on this site to defame that horrifying collection of split-level houses called the Clear Lake (Tex.) area, not only by explaining that the filthy, violent pornography I've published was, in part, all about revenge fantasies based on my hatred of the place, but I've also tried to save news articles about how horrible the place is -- in fact, it's even more horrible now than it was then. Back then, the worst thing that happened was a drunk driver going off the road. Now it's vile mass murders, chief among them being the infamous incident a few years ago in which that psychopathic housewife killed all her kids, but also including comical, run-of-the-mill, tabloid-worthy husband-killings and wife murders.

So I don't have a huge urge to go back there to, like, see the place. And I definitely don't feel like going back to justify my meagre existence to my classmates. Oh, you own your own empire of Chevy dealerships? That's neat, Biff! Me? Oh, I'm a part-time church secretary.

Yeah, sure, I totally want to go back there for a high school reunion!