The internet, in all its vast, porn laced wisdom has finally found a way to bring the embarrassment and utter shame of your high school reunion right into the comfort of your home.
As if Facebook didn't make it easy enough for the horrible people you've long blocked out of your memory to access your new, more respectable life, only to ruin it with an off kilter comment about that time you snorted a line of salt off a cheerleaders left tit. Now we have a full blown site dedicated to preserving and, in most cases, resurfacing memories that should just fucking stay back in high school where they happened. Sure, who doesn't like to remenisce about that kick ass kegger in junior year where you finally made it to "over the bra action" with Jenny-What's-Her-Cleavage? But now after Martha Stewart has showed all of our mothers how to use Facebook, it's best to leave evidence like that out of cyberspace as much as possible.
And for those of us without shameful high school incidents potentially haunting our adult lives (I'm talking about you, Ted), there's the added shame of learning just how insignificant an existence you've created for yourself post-high school. Oh yeah, life's pretty smooth making $10 an hour at the Pac-N-Save, living in a comfy studio apartment beneath an all night gay club. Well guess what? Thanks to Classmates.com, you can now find out that the kid from your pre-algebra class who regularly shit himself in class and got caught masturbating in the teacher's lounge, is now running a very successful giant boob cloning company and owns six fucking islands, including the one from Lost. How exactly is boob cloning relevant in our economy? More relevant than you, Pac-N-Save, and that says very little.