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In This Issue

• Young and In Heat
• Teen Talk
• Way Embarassing Stories From Teens Like You!
• Letters to the Feditor
• You're Bleemin' Thin!
• New, Finger-Eatin' Good Diet!
• Pot Calls Kettle Black, Gag Ball Calls Assless Chaps Gay
• Sequels: Always Better Than Originals
• Boy Bands: Our Saviors
• Barbara Bush is a Dead Bitch
• H&M: We're So Hip!
• Beauty is in the Red, Tearful Eye of the Beholder
• Pity the Lowly Rock Dove
• Do-It-Yourself Object of Love
• Ode to a Spill-Proof Mug
• Mouse and Cat: World Series Prep
• Revolve: The *New* New Testament
• Fed Insider with Grown-Up Teen Idol Rider Strong
• Jewry Blocks Masturbation
• The 9 Train
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 21.1

Dear Panicdotes,

Last week in biology class, my crush, "Michael," sat right next to me! Then my totally dorky teacher was like "Open your books to page one hundred" or something so I did. But I wanted to get my crush's attention, so I slowly traced a finger across the brown paper cover and opened it slowly like a French madame. He looked at me and whispered that I should turn to the next page because I had opened it so sexily. Well, he said "slowly," but I know what he really meant, Panicdotes. Michael's so dapper and totally ace! Anyways, on the next page was a huge diagram of some lady's hooey! I looked at my teacher like, "Please, bub!" But he just kept lecturing about this human female anatomy whatever! Now Michael probably thinks I have one of those, and I bet he thinks I'm all nizzasty and messed up, uglier than five miles of bad road! God, Panicdotes, how can an up-and-coming girl like myself get rid of this accursed pink stink? Why can't it just be normal, like a fella's tally-whacker, not this party-pooping puss! I want Michael to think I'm pretty, but it's like I have a pimple - not just any pimple, but a huge, radically concave one! What do I do?!

Love,
Amanda, 16

Tough luck, Amanda,

but your honey-pot shame-spot's here to stay! You know, maybe this "school" thing isn't the bestest thing for you! Stay in the parking lot and work on your smile till Michael walks out! Flirt hard enough and maybe it'll take him longer to realize your body will never be valuable! Laters!

 

Dear Panicdotes,

I'm on the volleyball team at school, and we go to big tournaments all the time. Well not all of them, but a lot, LOL! Anywha', we got invited to a tournament in another suburb, but this suburb was on the other side of the urb, if you know what I mean - we had to drive our team bus past hordes of urban poor people, Panicdotes! Whoa! Yikes! Whoakes! Why even pack make-up?! Then the bus driver (who looked like the south end of a northbound mule, Bee Tee Dubs) said he needed food and a break after hours of driving or something, so he stopped the bus in the middle of the city. Then who should call my RAZ-R phone but my crush, Wilson! Golly, Wilson's cuter than a speckled pup in a red wagon! Anyway, I got super-embarrassed and told him how nice my swimming pool is, but he was all like, "What's that noise in the background? Is that a check cashing store?" CLICK. Oh Panicdotes, I almost died from embarrassment and minorities!

Heart Ewe,
Paisley, 15

Yowza, Paisley! Looks like you need to do some serious salvage work on that R-L-T-N-S-H-P :) Your personality would look cute in a Live Strong bracelet and blonde highlights. Find yourself a boy and a purse; let the ghettoes rot. Toodles!

To the Panicdotes,

I am most grateful for your reading my letter to you. I must tell you that I nearly had the death from shame quite recently. My village is a very old-fashioned place. It is older than the letters in its name, totally. During preparations for the upcoming Festival of Locust Swarms, the elders had gathered in the main sitting room of my husband's home (in which I live as well). I was in the pantry staring silently at the grain sacks next to the little round window out of which I am not allowed to look. All of a sudden I heard one of my children start to cry on the other side of the house, disturbing the meeting! I bolted to the doorway, and without thinking I entered the room of men. I nearly looked one in the eye! If you had anti-cloth vision you would've seen me blushing through my woolen veil and eye-screen! Everyone in the room fainted, obviously.

When I awoke I ran back to the pantry without anyone seeing me. Later, in the kitchen, my husband gave me a letter to tell me that the elders had hallucinated that I had entered the room and subsequently the village had been swallowed by the earth, and also that the crying child had died from hunger. But please get this, Panicdotes: it was only a girl! Whew! Close one! Perhaps I can get back into the swing of the things by drawing a picture of a cellphone. Oh how I yearn for such things!

Sincerely,
Talkia, 14

That sucks, Talkia! Old bearded guys are definitely not so hot right now or ever! But we'd love to hear about your exotic look; send us some style pointers for our next issue. What should we all buy? Also, when someone is buried up to her neck and stoned to death for theistic etiquette infractions, which death-shrouds are the best for late summer style?

 

Dear Panicdotes,

 

Okay, I seriously can not stand other girls! Here's how it started, Panicdotes. I've had a crush on this boy at school, Jaysonn, ever since my older sister took me a high school party when I was still in eighth grade. She introduced me to this cute sophomore boy who looked at me, smiled, and nodded his adorable head at me. Oh Jaysonn! So this year I decided I had to have him. Have him for what, I don't know, but I had to. I knew he liked to play guitar and watch cartoons, so to make myself more appealing to him I went and bought a really nice outfit. I wanted to wow him on Monday at school, so I brought the outfit to my dad's house for the weekend and prepped for the big day by alternately screaming and whimpering at my friends over the phone for hours, Panicdotes, hours! Anyhow, guess what happened! Exactly! As I approached him at school looking shit-hot, some other girl walked up to him wearing the exact same thing! Now, she was uglier than a dog's breakfast, but Jaysonn saw us both and started laughing at our clothes instead of looking at my face! Why can't I get a boy to just look at my face?! And why must other girls be such trifling bitches?!

*sniff*,

Tanya

Hey now, Tanya, don't try to put one past old Panicdotes! We're pretty sure that the reason he didn't fall in love with you wasn't that he got distracted by an unusual coincidence, but rather that your outfit wasn't pretty in the first place, or else your hair didn't reflect light rays in an aesthetically proper manner. Besides, all girls know that all girls are such liars, and we're girls, so you're a liar and ugly, too. Your story is one hundred percent bughouse.

And now for answers to anonymous cries for help:

"Ouch" in Ohio, we know of no place on the body which cannot or should not be waxed.

To "Wondering" from Washington: you didn't even need to tell us you liked Peter Billings, since he already knew and he told all his friends and they told everyone because it's hilarious because you could never get with him. He isn't even that good a kisser, and trust us, we know. That's right, "Wondering," a.k.a. Tiffany McKinney, we made out with your crush, probably while you were writing your lameass letter. In fact, our relationship with Peter is fifty-two skadoo, bitch, so why don't you wish into one hand and spit in the other, and see which hand gets filled first?