One can only wonder what sorts of shenanigans ensued at the water fountain between a leather jacketed victim, a topless accomplice, and one fellow suffering from a damaged pinky.
These fellows seem pretty psyched to cast their votes for class president.
“Don’t forget to calculate the area of the trapezoids and rhombi, Ese.”
Sometimes you just want to strangle your typing teacher because she’s a controlling bruja.
Been there, my friend.
I apologize if it is still wintry in your neck of the woods. Here it’s been in the 80s. Birds are chirping incessantly, lawns are demanding weekly mowings, the air has the bitter stench of weed-killer in it, the neighborhood pool opens manana, and swarms of bees root around in our holly bush, two paces from our front door. I HATE bees. And wasps. Our Martha Stewart six chair patio set is ready for guests. All we need is a recliner, like these ladies seem to be enjoying.
Considering it was 1932, smack dab in the middle of The Depression, they seem to be fairing pretty well. Methinks Ms. Ira F. Warner from Westhampton, Long Island looks rather cheeky.
Mary Alice has been on hold for 37 minutes with her P.O.C. health insurance carrier, and has found herself entertaining unkind thoughts of shoving Joyce and Joanne’s heads through the spindly wrought iron bars.
This bespectacled fellow is giving me a French Stewart (from Third Rock From The Sun) vibe.
The year 1951 was a special time for hair. Behold.
What in the name of Lyle Lovett? Oh, let’s not be hasty in our judgment; perhaps it was covering a right-sided tumor.
This next series takes us from disdain to giddy jubilation in just four steps.
Not everyone can have fantastic hair like Snazzle Dazzle here.
Right, Leslie?
Pretty sure he turned out to be a psychopath.
I used to be a sappy, squeezy, snuggly dog person, but after the unspeakable incident of ’03, I have made my heart dead inside. To an extent. So even the cuteness of Tonto fails to arouse a wellspring of joy.
I feel like Jemima looks. Oh, the ennui.
Barely tolerating the wretched burden of this life thrown upon her. She used to be a contender, dining on duck treats in a pre-Hurricane Katrina Big Easy, but then she got craigslisted by the lumberjack-bearded friend of her dead owner and wound up in our back yard, hardly suffering Tontos gladly.
So she chases him. Tries to chase the stupid out of him. To no avail.
Round and round they go, her ten-year-old limbs chasing his younger, jauntier, more bassetty frame. 
And still she is bored. And still he is stupid.
That’s a tight formation, boys.
Other than the silkiness of the shorts, the track and field outfits for these Dallas high school fellas in 1967 didn’t vary much from those in 1936 at the University of Kansas.
Less fabric = more ease of movement. And what a fine-looking trophy.
Still, a little more length in the shorts might be preferable. I don’t think he’s going to clear this one, y’all.
Hello? A jukebox in your high school lunchroom? What a great way to burn calories after a meal of cubed ham and ambrosia.
And lollipops, too? Sugar, sugar.
Bask in the sweet threads of Double V-neck and Paisley Prince, playing with electric race cars. Did they get class credit for this?
Even Algebra looks fun!
Perhaps I spoke to soon.
Last night I had a dream that I was on The 25,000 Pyramid, and I’d gotten to the Winner’s Circle with Melissa Joan Hart as my celebrity, giving me clues. She kept yelling “ham sandwich, ham sandwich” and all I could think was “Things You Eat At A Picnic,” “Things Kids Pack For Lunch,” “Things Pigs Turn Into”…And then the buzzer went off and she shook her head despairingly and I discovered the category was, “Things Mama Cass Died Of.” Which didn’t seem fair, since you usually only die of one thing, and that one thing was choking on a ham sandwich–not things plural. But then I remembered that was just an urban myth, and Cass actually had a heart attack at the age of 32. And really, if she was going to die of any sandwich, it should have been in a Hardee’s, where the burgers are charco-broiled, as she sang in the 1973 jingle.
Songs that made the hit parade.
Guys like us we had it made.
Those were the days.
I Don't Get It 