Yearbook: A hilarious collection of true stories from the writer of Superbad

by Seth Rogen

tried to look normal and confident, not like a guy who just pooped himself, as I took her hand and walked her down the stairs. Each step was a waking nightmare. I prayed to whatever god there is that she didn’t smell anything, or that I didn’t, either, because I worried that I would throw up if I did, which obviously wouldn’t help things. We made it outside, and I saw that she was parked about half a block up. I swung her hand as we walked, thinking, How am I gonna kiss her goodbye while making sure my ass stays as far away from her nose as humanly possible? I pulled off a kinda butt-out hug type thing. I stood on the street and watched her pull away in her little Acura Integra, a Dave Matthews Band fire-dancer sticker on the back windshield, because as a young Jewish woman, she’s legally obligated to have that. I thought to myself, I’m gonna have to throw these underpants, pants, and at this point maybe my shoes and socks in the garbage. I also thought, I love her, and I hope I get to spend the rest of my life with her and that one day I can tell her about this, because if anyone would appreciate this story, it’s her.