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Do you drink alcoholic beverages? DO I.
I basically drink like a sorority pledge.
I do not have the energy to be in a relationship with someone exceptionally good-looking.
I mourned that relationship with Fred. I mourned it hard. Wrote a eulogy, had a funeral, shed a few tears, put flowers on its grave.
I’m not even gonna front, I have never been able to navigate a postrelationship relationship with someone whose testicles have been in my mouth, but somehow this is working.
That’s the kind of gross creepy weird I am, the “your birthday is my PIN number” weird.
I tiptoed into the bathroom, glancing under the stalls for tiny manicured feet. When I saw none I slipped into the closest stall and waited a few seconds before letting out the loudest, grossest fart any non–zoo animal had ever emitted and taking the biggest shit ever.
My sweet, sweet Amy, five feet tall and built like a Lego, was wearing daytime sequins. It looked like someone had stretched an ice-skating costume over a refrigerator box. I
Doesn’t she know the unspoken rule that all black people have to stick together within large white gatherings? You never know when a lynch mob might be forming next to the cupcake table!
My eyelashes are sweating in this cheap-ass dress, and my tits are exploding out of the top like biscuit dough from a can.
Man, having a penis has turned me into such a dick.
All of that “gentle, low-impact movement” was doing a really efficient job of gently removing my tits from where I’d strapped them down, and shoving one back in once it has escaped is the worst.
The drawback was that everything I ate made me have the kind of farts that make you check your underpants for burn holes afterward, the kind of farts that sear your asshole as they exit, the kind of farts that have teeth.
The five stages of Holy Shit I Just Broke a Chair in Front of People: 1. Denial. “I’m not on the floor, you’re on the floor!!” 2. Anger. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU BUY CHAIRS AT A RESALE SHOP, BITCH. 3. Bargaining. “Please, God, if you kill everyone in this dining room right now, I promise I will try to recycle all of the SlimFast cans I swear I’m going to start buying.” 4. Depression. “I am fat enough to kill chairs. I don’t deserve oxygen.” 5. Acceptance. “Welp, since I’m already fat, fuck these toast points; let’s get a pizza.” Turns out Mavis hadn’t put the chair together correctly, but
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I have come to find out that the only leverage you can get on a kid is doing something that he’s too young to do, and since ten-year-olds these days are already refinancing their second mortgages and maintaining better 401(k)s than I do, the best way to stay ahead of the game is to do things that they legally can’t, like going under the needle and drinking a High Life with your breakfast.
We big-city folk understand that “Call me if you need help moving next week” loosely translates to “BITCH, I DARE YOU.”
I’ve never had a fistfight with a baby before, but I briefly considered it before reminding myself that (1) jail is real, and (2) in ten years the coal mine would introduce him to karmic retribution better than I ever could.
5. Is my debt your debt? Would you be willing to bail me out? Bail you out of what, jail? Yes, of course, especially since I like to keep a bail bondsman on the payroll at all times just in case.
Do you know how expensive keeping my nipples off my kneecaps is?!
“I would love to toss your salad, girl”
Whenever I see someone dragging along a snot-nosed little tax deduction I think, “Someone liked that guy enough to let him pollinate her flower. He must be cool.” (No, I don’t. I really think, “I bet he only got fourteen minutes of sleep last night, thank the Lord I can’t get pregnant.”)
Another time I watched a woman with long lacquered nails and an expensive-looking boob job eat a dog treat to “see what it tasted like to her dog.” You know, because human and canine taste buds are so similar; it’s why I have a bowl of Purina One every morning in lieu of traditional oatmeal.
