Sex education is a huge problem in America. HUGE!
Kids don’t know about penises in vaginas, penises in anuses, and vaginas
rubbing up against vaginas (we assume, since how else could girls make that
work?!) and it’s literally killing dozen of teen!
Many people in more progressive states (anything that isn’t
located in what used to the Confederacy) have begun teaching comprehensive
sex-ed in schools, to prevent rampant gonorrhea, crabs, syphilis and the shits
from spreading through our sexy teens like wildfire. The hope is that at least a handful of our
teens will emerge from their education with clean enough bills of health to
work in porn, since America’s exploited teens are a rapidly vanishing resource.
But southern states are rampant with their claps and their
butt babies and all the other myriad problems that emerge when you don’t have
sex education. Condoms are available by
prescription only, guarded by armed men in the back of stores. There’s no hope in sight for the children of
the south, previously our most desperately spirited sexual deviants who would
go on to titillate us once they reach legal adulthood. Something must be done.
That’s where you wash ashore in the middle of a storm, to
use a very literal turn of phrase. You’re
a magical clam and today, following a horrifying freak storm that will
devastate the Louisiana coastline, you’ll be washed ashore into a Health
classroom in a public school in some nameless shithole somewhere along banks of
the Gulf.
You’ll sit there for three hours before some teens come in
to start cleaning up their classroom so their obese teacher can sit down behind
the desk you’ll be occupying at the
time. When one of them, a young woman,
reaches out to you you’ll warn her:
“Don’t pick me up without a glove! Shellfish can often carry bacteria that can
lead to harmful health conditions.”
The children will collectively gasp at your crisp, clear
unaccented voice.
“What’re y’all abou’ na?” one boy will ask.
“I’m a magical clam,” you’ll proudly announce. “I have the answer to most health related
questions.”
The kids will get into how you know all this shit and you’ll
explain to them that life as a clam is filthy and if you’re a magical sentient
clam who can talk it’s hard not to start obsessing over all the various health
conditions that can befall you, especially when you somehow have mystical
access to the internet. They’ll then
start asking you about sex.
“Is it true y’all can get pregnant from a finger?” one girl
will ask. A boy will chortle, then
suddenly turn pale as a sheet as he realizes he’s accidentally fingered his
cousin at least twice.
“No. But you can get
certain infections from having dirty digits placed in your vagina, so you
should always insist your partner washes his or her self carefully before
engaging in any sort of sexual activity.”
The children will coo at the knowledge you can provide. Over the next month you’ll tell them of
condoms, of oral sex and of why they shouldn’t generally have sex with
animals. Word of your deeds will spread
throughout the south. You’ll become a
legend in the south: a mystical clam that speaks the truth about sex and,
divorced from the pay and pension structure of the state of Louisiana’s public
school system, can actually respond to the questions burning in the minds of
these horny teens.
In the process you’ll draw the ire of a particularly angry
group of religious extremists, who will form an elaborate plan to kill
you. Luckily your teens are pretty
bright and the ensuing antics will later be documented in two films: a
lighthearted family comedy about learning about sex and a murder-porn film
about the pitfalls of religious extremism.
Congratulations Mystical Clam!
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