WHAT TO DO WITH THE INVITATION TO MY 40TH HIGH SCHOOL REUNION...

              I haven't attended any of the past 39 reunions of my high school's graduation class of 1972, and for good reasons every single time.  Someone has given the reunion committee my current email address, because they've written and asked me to RSVP for this year's soiree.
              Heavy sigh...

              I have no idea why these things are popular with people.  Maybe it's because a lot of people actually enjoyed their high school days and look back on them with fondness and nostalgia.  Most of my memories from high school have been suppressed by my internal defense mechanisms, but the few that have managed to rise to the surface from time to time only reminded me of how miserable I was during that part of my life.  And I was absolutely miserable.  Every.  Fucking.  Day.  Of Mother Fucking High School.
              There were four or five people in my graduating class whom I considered friends, and those four or five people have stayed in touch.  We get together from time to time to swap old stories, drink beer, and kid one another about every embarrassing thing any of us has on the next guy.  We've managed to stay friends through various marriages, divorces, job moves, career crises, and all of the changes we've gone through in our lives.  Of all the people in my high school, those four or five guys would be the only ones I'd give a damn about seeing at a reunion.
              And they're pressing me to attend this one, because it's the fortieth.  If it were just the five or six of us planning a party, I'd be down for the deal in a heartbeat.  But it's not just the five or six of us and our wives.  It's the whole fucking graduation class.
              And here's the deal with my graduation class:  90% of them were assholes when I was in high school.  We had cliques in my school.  Jocks, cheerleaders, and the ultra-good looking popular kids were in one group, while the rest of us just tried to stay out of harm's way. 
              If you belonged to the cool clique, you were in high cotton.  Teachers treated you like the chosen ones, your future was bright, and getting laid was as easy as a wink and a nod.  If you belonged to my group, teachers only noticed you when you screwed up, and getting laid was something we dreamed and fapped off about at night.
              So a few years ago I joined Facebook and instantly found myself being contacted by a lot of the 90%'s from my graduation class.  They remembered me, despite the fact that I wasn't in the cool group.  It only took me a few weeks on Facebook to remember why I never liked any of those people when we were in school together.
              Seems as if everyone I went to school with went on to become die-hard Republicans, but then I DID tell you they were assholes.  Most of the women in my graduation class only went on Facebook to post Bible verses, or to bash liberal Democrats.  I accused one such woman of wanting a double-penetration session with Reagan and Jesus.  She didn't know what I was talking about.  Apparently, porn hasn't reached her neck of the woods.  I'm sure the mental image would have sent her into apoplectic shock, which was my intent.  I hate wasting a good visual on someone too dense to get the picture...
              And here's the other thing about my high school reunion.  It's been scheduled to be held at a hotel in Oak Ridge, Tennessee on the evening of November 3rd.  That means there's to be a party of assholes gathering in Republican Central, Tennessee, three damn days before the national elections.  Think my liberal politics will be a hit in east Tennessee three days before the reelection of Barack Obama?

               I believe I'll respond to the invitation by writing back to the reunion committee with one of Woody Allen's quotes:

           "I had planned to attend, but at the last minute thought of a great excuse."