Oh the horror!
Two straight-laced kids who look like they just stepped out of a 1950's Sears catalog, get just a little too close. And with a little help from cheap booze and their plaid-obsessed friends, they end up speaking the three little words that will spoil any date. No, it is not, “Sorry, I'm broke”. But “I have VD”.
After ignoring problems “down there” or pretending that they do not exist, the narrator then forces them to check into their local neighborhood clinics. There, they are then subjected to humiliating lectures and scorn by not-yet-dead Nazi doctors, know-it-all Urgent Care physicians and in the end, are shamed far beyond anything Kim Kardashian could bear.