Roanoke, Va. — The county school district has installed a controversial new wing of the Cave Spring High School medical facility to include a “maternity ward” outfitted with beds, nurses, and counseling services to accommodate Virginia’s awesome teen pregnancy rates.
A bunch of forward-thinking, rational people questioned whether a maternity ward in a high school is helpful where the counselors must split their duties between teen mom therapy and P.E. coach. But who cares what they think?
If America’s ever going to touch China, somebody’s got to start having kids. Roanoke, Virginia is a patriot’s playground, and home to some of the finest biological specimens this side of the Mighty Mississippi River. Teen pregnancy originating from Southwest Virginia is the proven antidote to Chairman Mao’s snake oil revolution!
Now plug in your eyeballs, because it’s about to get weird. You’re going to read in the first person perspective as if you were a teen mom, thinking someone else’s thoughts. Pretend you are just 15 years old, you have a bunch of kids, and read this!
In Your Words
The Internet Chronicle has poisoned you.
“I acted depressed for a while because I thought it would make me appear cool, deep, and introspective. That didn’t work, so I had a baby.” –Selena, 17, is now considered cool among her peers
Them Chronicle boys asked me to write y’all a story about my earliest memories of suckin’ and fuckin. I reckon them old boys even said they’d edit it for me, so I don’t look like such an imbecile as you’re reading this. So thank you, fellas. This my story.
I was 16 years old when I became a mother.
“A baby having a baby” is what people said to me. They called it advice. I call it abuse! My guidance counselor calls me “Selena Prettymouth.” This is my chance to stick up for myself and tell my side of things. I had to get a babysitter so I could write this.
I’d love to sit here, jerking off in front of a website all day writing stories, but becoming a teen mom was difficult. Do you think I have time to sit here and write? I got a baby on one hip, one in the oven, and heck I got one on the stove. If I have anymore babies, I’ll have to grow another tit. It’s not just a matter of shitting this thing out–and there it is–you know, this takes years of bed rest. I’ll be living in bed full time, while my kids take care of each other, buying shit on Amazon, and wolfing down corndogs.
I took a little time to make pornographic videos for money. I understand the world’s moved on to just calling them videos, but I am an old soul, someone who gets it. I don’t care what everybody else does. I’m shooting videos of my pussy, while you jerk off to venmo. Get it? I started young. I was on my third child before I knew what hit me, what’s not in orphanages I’m attached at the hip, I couldn’t shake ’em, they’re with me now. Part of the whole deal. No I will not pimp them out for percocets. I’m a good mother, I’m just young.
I carried my second baby to term and gave birth to a child, Jayden. When I tell my story I tend to blow through the boring stuff like doing shit Jayden wants to do, and I like to focus on the fun side of life, after he goes to sleep, at my parents’ house, where he lives. I never want to see the movie Wall-E, ever again.
Everybody wants to know, do they have the same dad? I am like bitch, don’t you want to know their names first? Easy way to remember their names is to only remember the first names of the ones I kept. Jayden, Cayden, Brayden, and Bailin are gonna grow up to be attorneys at law and have big fancy TV commercials.
So that’s it. That’s my life with them boys. I’m a teen mom. It’s hell. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, though. Even though I realize that is what I have done, now that I am writing this out and for the first time thinking it through. Well, damn. My life is shit. I missed Teen Mom for this?
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Barrett's heart burned with hot jealousy, as her imagination ran wild over unspeakable possibilities.
WASHINGTON — The Air Force quickly put out a joint Sunday, after the Boeing X-37B spaceplane made an unexpected return in the middle of the night, to the Kennedy Space Center in Florida. The predawn landing woke the family dog, set off a smoke alarm, and confused two small children belonging to the spaceplane and Secretary of the Air Force Barbara Barrett.
Unlike the International Space Station, the unmanned X-37B spaceplane is not dependent on people for success or survival. It is a cold, scientific, rambling plane.
The warm reception, if brief, was colored by revelry the likes of which only 780 days apart can elicit. Following a loving embrace, Barrett noticed the unmistakable stench of alcohol on the breath of the unmanned science vessel.
Barrett said she pulled back instinctively, noticing that the plane was burned, tinted and charred, as if it had been involved in secret space meetings, perhaps in some smoky space bar with mustachioed aliens. Her imagination was running wild.
Barrett’s heart burned with hot jealousy, as her imagination ran wild over unspeakable possibilities.
“With a successful landing today, the X-37B completed its longest flight to date and successfully completed all mission objectives, assuming those objectives were to worry me, tarnish my trust, and lead our children to believe their spaceplane abandoned us,” Barrett said. “This mission successfully hosted Air Force Research Laboratory experiments, among global spying, as well as providing what I assume was a ride for a few small satellites, which the X-37B assures me were strictly professional.”
Barrett confided in her peers, probing for answers to her most pressing concerns. The spaceplane, she told Air Force Commander John Majors, seems distant and withdrawn, somehow different from how it left.
“What was it doing up there for 780 days?” asked Air Force commander John Majors. “It didn’t call. It didn’t text. Two years went by. Now it’s back? I am not saying anything one way or the other. I’d just want to know where it’s been.”
The mysterious and exotic real doctor Angstrom H. Troubadour, involved in secret projects around government black sites like Area 51 S4, at Papoose Lake, covered for the spaceplane, which he said was merely dropping off those hot little satellites with the tight asses, for business purposes only.
Real Doctor
“The X-37B spaceplane was on a top secret mission away from his wife, where he dropped off hot, upcoming satellites that hang behind foreign communications satellite, hoovering up every packet of data transmitted via satellite between the miserable scum living on the surface below.”
–Dr. Angstrom H. Troubadour, researcher and wingman
BREAKING: SPACEPLANE DATA LEAKED
“I’ve been on a 780-day mission, conducting top secret science experiments that literally can’t be done on Earth, and I gotta come home to this? It doesn’t make sense, I’ve been busting my ass.” said the Boeing X-37B. “You know, it is weird, though. Because now that I think about it, I thought I saw some receipts from Lockheed-Martin in our trashcan by the dresser.”
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A bunch of forward-thinking, rational people questioned whether a maternity ward in a high school is helpful where the counselors must split their duties between teen mom therapy and P.E. coach. But who cares what they think?
