Drunk Dialing vs. Drunk Texting

Drunk texting offers proof.
Inbox/Outbox.
You see what was sent, you see what was received.

Drunk dialing is a mystery.
You see the amount of time spent on the phone.
But not the actual conversation.
20 minutes and 32 seconds.
Of what?
Who knows?
Most certainly not you.
Fuck.

Can someone please invent a little plug in that requires you to breathalize into your cell phone before it operates?

My God.

Simple invention...

Yet no one has ventured into that part of it.

If you're a tech genius...and you're reading this...please...get on it.
You'd save me lots of embarrassement.
Lots of "I'm sorry's".
Lots of "Did I really say that?!".
Lots of "Can you recap that convo for me?".

Lord.

Someone make my life amazing and invent.
Free blowjob to the first person who gets it done.

The (bleeding) Vagina Monologues.

I'm pretty sure my neighbors hate me. And ya know what? Can't say I blame them.

I have a job where I have to work real adult hours. Monday through Friday, 8-5. That unfortunately means I also probably need to sleep old people hours : Bed by 10pm. Lame, I know. But I need my beauty sleep...trust me!

Allow me to paint you a picture:

It's a hot spring night. Tuesday is slowly making it's way into the wee hours of a Wednesday morn. The sky is beautiful in all it's black glory, every so wonderously bedecked with shining stars. It's the perfect backdrop for one about to lay rest...

Add to that a chick sitting in her room, piss drunk, bitter about getting a year older, and the ugly sound of young kids partying and having fun.

Homie don't play dat.

Random ho in the middle of the street: Oh my GOD...I am sooooooooo wastoid!
Random ho #2: I like, loooooove drinking with older guys.
Random ho #3: I totally know! We don't have to ask anyone who's like, 21 or old or whatever to buy our Coor's Light for us!

Insert annoying as giggles.

Enter drunk bitch barrelling over to the open window to shed some much needed light on the scene in the street below...

Drunk old grouch: All of you shut the fuck up. I'm old, I'm tired, I'm drunk and bleeding out of my vagina!

Que laughter of all the party guests in the garage.

The buck stops there.
The drunken blackout makes it's appearance.

Stay classy.

Love is Evol.

What is love?

Let me tell you:

Love is what God gave the Catholics so they wouldn't feel guilty about sex.

That's a Court original.

I'll drink to that.
Amen.

Beautiful Babies and Bucks!

Having babies scares the piss outta me.

Not because I'm worried about my maternal instincts.
Or my finances.
Or even if I'm ready to be a Mom.
It isn't the pain of labor, either. (Helloooooo Epideral!!)

I don't want to have ugly monster looking babies.
Shallow, yes.
But it's a valid fear of mine!

So I've figured out the PERFECT way to find out what kind of kids I'll be popping out in a few years, and make some money in the process.

EGG DONOR!!

Spare me your moral bullshit. I've got bills to pay and a very important question that needs answering for the future of my potential offspring! Besides, for 6 grand, you can have my morals. I know it's supposed to be all hush hush and you never get to see what the little munchkins look like after they're born, but I'm going to include some sort of clause in my contract. I'll even knock off a couple hundred. Just one random picture a year later so I can see if I need to get my tubes tied to prevent the overpopulation of uglies.

I know, I'm a genius.

Age Before Booty.

Demi Moore was born in what...nineteen sixty beforenintendoexisted, making her like 200 or some ridiculously high number, right?

Yeah. If waiting until I'm a bonafide geezer means pulling a piece of ass as hot as Ashton Kutcher, gimme my knitting needles, mothballs, and rocking chair.

Grannie's gonna get her some.

Bow chicka bow wow.