Underdogs Rise Up!! Rumblings of Class War 1966.

by punkpink

All you lovely readers, sweet gals and guys said you wanted more of me, dear old punkpink ,well here is a little story that is short, fun and will tell you all, even those of you who weren’t even a glimmer in your mamma and papa’s eye what we did way back in the day, when those school bells summoned us each and every morning, way back before all heaven broke lose all across americkkka.

Picture this if you can, a small town’s (aka Goon City) high school where rebellion had been simmering for a few years now,  a student here and a student there refusing to salute the flag, boys daring to wear sandals to school and being sent home promptly by the principle, some of us out marching against the war, reading poetry by the beatnik poets of the day Then there was those others, the kids wanting to succeed at whatever the good old red, white and blue had to give them. Straight and boring, little mommy and daddy. Pony up americkkka, we love you, and everything in our tiny little town is just hunky dory. Give it up americkkka, you promised us, be good, we want,  you get. How we hated them and how they really hated us. How some of us hate them still and we are happy to report that they hate us.

Punkpink of course wasn’t Punkpink back in those days but answered to Benny, Beakie, Nelly, Ritchie, or Clarabell. Pinks friends Bonnie,  Gertie, Pearl, Billy, Dave, Poke, and Reebie were rebels of sorts. Rebels who hung out at Old Edgar’s grease pit, rebels who could dance all the black folks dances and other latest dances, rebels who did the dirty grind, hung out with beatniks, marched early on against the war, and were an all around embarrassment to their mother and father in small town americkkka. Heavens they even smoked cigarettes. Once pinks mother remarked, “If I didn’t know any better, I would swear that I found a baby pink on my front stoop.”

Crown Clip Art

School days, school day, break all the rule days. The Revolution is coming! The Revolution is coming!

Queen of the Underdogs.

The underdogs were pissed. “Of course we share this high school too today,” said they. We make art in the art room, flunk gym, know how to mend and sew in home ec, can build a bird house, fix a car, type 110 words a minute, dance the night away, scream at the top of our lungs, “End the War NOW!” We care about our fellow humans, we sing We Shall Overcome, and Oh Freedom with the best, and are generally well-rounded rebels.Yes we were rebels of sorts and out of sorts were we. We liked the outta sorts the best as that is where the most fun was. Yeap, that was us. The don’t fuck with us mess. So when the time came to pass, that our Senior Ball was on the horizon we said what the fuck, “Let’s leave this school with something to think about.” Of course, Beettle Bopper who was the head of the underdog crew was  sick and tired of seeing those prissy ass college girls every year, year after year take the crown at all of the school dances.  It always seem it was a cultural given, that those girls were given the crown. They sweet talked, they smiled, they drop little bombs of sweet smelling perfume, just enough to make straight boys do the wild thing and their bidding. Damn horny, was he and Bopper would say, “I bet they all have tight little boxes that no one has even parted yet.” Saving them up for a rainy day? Hoping to be pure, white and clean for their husband to be? Shit folks your missing out on a lot of fun. But they can’t fool me, they will get their boys to do what they want and then drop them like a look of “oh come on,” really?, not me and you, you got to be kidding. Fuck that! They get the crowns because we the underdogs aren’t united, we the underdogs know that there are more of us than of them even counting the pretty boys college bound and all the jocks put together. So we got to take a cue from the folks around us who are rebelling. “Let’s join forces,” screamed Sissyfag, and “set these upper class college bound airheads, apple pie loving fuckers straight.” “Give them their due!” Ah, early on the sweet smell of our own revolution. Maybe heads wouldn’t role but they sure would turn.

They always got something and we get nothing. We always get nothing, hundreds of nothings if you take the time and add it all up. There’s the cute bound for college boy who is president of the class, the college bound girl for Vice President, the treasurer another one of them. Our only claim to fame was that Elsie Brown of the Commercial class was the class secretary. Well of course, that was a real job, you had to sit there and take notes during every meeting, then type up the notes, and read the minutes of the last meeting and not really have much of a say in anything but note taking, typing and minutes of the last meeting reading. So even though we inched in one time, they, those upper class boys and girls made Elsie sing for her supper. Cheerleaders were the same old story. You had to be cute, preferably a blond and go out with one of the jocks on the team. The bigger point scoring jock the better. Bring home the bacon for the dear old school we loved so well, for the dear old school we yell, we yell, we yell. We got to pass the time believing in something.

Our campaign started early, Gertie and Benny Bopper who taught the airheads to dance suddenly were not available on any Saturday mornings to dance away till late afternoon on Jill Caulkins front porch.  Gertie had a bit of trouble convincing her boy friend Rufus to go along with the plan as Rufus wanted to get in Beverly Wentworth’s pants. But she was finally able to convinced him with a few extra blow jobs. Rufus’ cousin Pete loved to visit  Goon City on Saturday as after the dancing he and Benny Bopper would sneak away to old Allen Wicks cabin and fuck like it was going out of style. Pete took it that he and Benny would have more time together and get in longer hours of skinny dipping in the pond in between humping, sucking, fucking and doing the wild thing that young men like them did so well. So all four main dancing teachers were on-line with the plan. How those pretty cream puffy girls whined, “oh come on, we want to know all the latest dances, for the Senior Prom is coming around fast.” But once the minds were made up nothing would persuade the underdogs to do anything else. Not even for the small dollars they paid us. You can bet your sweet roll we missed those dollars as being near poor they helped to get us by.

The Industrial Arts boys Billy, Dave, Poke who hung out with some of the Boppers did some campaigning among the other boys who really didn’t give one shit who made king or queen but knew full well that the college bound looked down their noses at them, worse than at the  Commercial girls and it was decided by all, stirred up to revolt by the underdogs,that they would all vote in a block for Margie Anne Peterson. A fine Commercial girl who could type like the speed of light, wasn’t all that pretty, never snotty to any of the boys or the underdogs, went out with boys older than herself, and could really dance.  Oh, such were those days among the early rumblings that began to begin,and reach within small town americka. How lucky were we to help in the ushering in of such rebellion.

Now the misfits were a different story all together. They just didn’t give a rats ass about any school dances, or cheering on the blue and the white.  They just loved to make art and music, get high on the latest drug to hit the town, and have a grand old-time at it. “Really,” said Jill Caulkins, “they are truly messed up kids and its a wonder that they got this far in school. “Why, that silly Pritchard, the one who calls himself an artist even if he can’t draw a straight line, I don’t think he takes a bath at all. Smells to high heaven. I wish the boys in gym class would throw him in the shower and make him take some soap to himself. Glad their style isn’t catching on.”  Well Benny Bopper convinced every one of them to vote, just do it so we can beat the asses of the upper classes. So the misfits joined the uprising.

Time to vote came up fast. Clara always the class do gooder made a nice ballot box for all the votes to be dropped into. She was well-known for doing things like that coming to the rescue of those who needed rescuing. You need a ballot box, tell Clara she would get one up for you in no time. Need an election poster, coming right up. Don’t be afraid to ask I like to do for others even if no one does for me. No one ever does for her but out of the woodwork like insects they come when they want Clara to do something for them.

How about a little bumping and grinding? At the Senior Ball no less!

How we bumped and grinded to Wild Thing. Stick out that hot ass and let my dick have a feel. Move it around, up and down, around and around she goes. Miss Jones told Gertie and me, do that humping again I will call your father and you will have to go home. No one in Good City High should act that way. Threatening kids with Gertie’s father was like sending in a marine battalion to take care of any rising trouble.

Let’s take a few minutes to listen to Wild Thing and remember all the bumping and grinding we did back then.

A raffle was always fun and a nice way for the Senior class to make a bit more money off of themselves. $1.00 and who could resist ones date when she rolled those big brown eyes and said, “Oh won’t you buy a raffle ticket for me, it would be so cool to win a dinner for two at Peabody’s Dairy Bar even if all they have is fried food that makes our faces break out in pimples. A major drum roll from the Disk Jockey was heard all around and the dancers stopped dancing and everyone became quite as quite as good boys and girls could be.*~~~*~~*~~~*And the winner is *Imaleen Ham*, will *Imaleen Ham* please come up to claim your prize.** The underdogs had struck. Phase 1 of the rebellion was well under way. Miss Jones, said now who is that, did someone bring an Imaleen Ham to this Senior Ball? *Imaleen Ham* where is *Imaleen Ham.” “Who in the world is Imaleen Ham?”

Going once, going twice the Queen is with her court maids all in a row.

All the votes were counted by an outside counting group of teachers from the middle school. Flying faerie Mr. Stevens always thought that was better so no one would excuse any teachers in his school of fixing the elections to favor anyone. The suspense grew as Mr. Procter and Miss Agnes slowly opened the envelope with the winners names inside. Drum roll please, Mr. DJ…  Sally Selden and her date Billy “big Dick” came in 3rd runner-up, next at second runner-up was Beverly Wentworth and Scott Hines. “Oh come on, come on, we underdog are still in the running,” and the queen of the class of 1966 Senior Prom is Margie Petersen. How us underdogs did hoop and let out a good scream. A scream of job well done. WHAT!!!!! this isn’t right!!!! Upset of the uppers it’s about time.  I’ll never forgot how Miss Jones mouth flew open, what???? a college girl didn’t win!!! No this can’t be, must be some mistake, this is the last dance of this class, the Senior Prom, and soon everyone will be departing and not all of the college bound girls have gotten the crown to balance on their hairspray hair piled up high like a cream on pie atop their air heads. Must be some mistake, count those votes again!

Second fiddle for college bound Beverly always the perfect beauty, third prize for Sally who was as cute as a blonde little button and who had been going with Billy “big Dick” since the 9th grade. No fair it was her turn. They stuck it out all those years and never fucked once according to Missy her best friend. Good people upholding all the rules that society presented them with.  I wonder if she ever felt up Bill “Big Dick”  when they were exchanging spit. He came to class one day and showed off his hickies and pretended like he got laid last night. He was pissed. Damn I wanted to fuck a queen tonight. Soon as Sally got away from the royal court she went to sulk outside. “That crown should have been mine!!!” ” All the other girls got it except me!!!!”  “Who fucked me out of the crown?” Sob, Sob, Sob like all of her family members had departed to gods great greenery on the other side leaving her here on earth to fend for herself. Poor thing, poor little blonde thing. Not even Billy “big dick” could soothe dear little Miss Sally. Some say she sobbed all the way home ran into the house and cried herself to sleep.

Well the flying faerie closet mean queen principle Mr. Stevens made a ruling, as he could do anything and no one would object. Fathers would say he sure knows how to keep the students in line and mothers would say of course, yes dear he sure does, that there would be no more voting in blocks or campaigning for one person. That every one must vote and not try to upstage the girls who were in line to the throne. Well snorted my sister and her good friend Pearl, we will see about that. Just wait and see what we will pull next year. Pearl, oh Pearl how about becoming the first black beauty to make Queen of a Senior Prom? And so they did and Pearl was the first black queen in the history of Goon City High.

From small rebellions come great big ones. Once in awhile I hear from an underdog , run into one at a demonstration or rally. Funny we still support class war, and can scream with the best of them, “Down with the phony baloney, of keeping up appearances and keeping up with the Mr. and Mr. Jones!!! Down with the capitalist state! “Down with everything that we don’t like and then some.” “Down with war and war mongers!” “Transform Not Reform.” 

punkpinks memory banks essay. 2011

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