Whoever says, “fashion over function,” is a fucking idiot. You can have both. #FirstTry
Being single is ‘ok’ until about 11 P.M. and it’s time to get in bed, at that point being single is downright awesome. You can sleep diagonal, use all (or none) of the covers, watch the TV loud, and basically do whatever other weird shit helps you sleep at night. Like air drumming, sit-ups, autoerotic-asphyxiation-related exercises, alphabetically reciting your favorite TLC songs starting with “Ain’t 2 Proud 2 Beg,” and my personal favorite: closing your eyes and imagining what you would do if your house suddenly caught fire, and mentally selecting the outfit you’d quickly throw on to ensure you look cool as fuck being interviewed on the local news with a smoldering fire backdrop. I think I’d wear solid black sweats and a Hawaiian shirt halfway unbuttoned. You know, something that looks rather effortless, but still says, “Hey, my house just burned down, but don’t feel bad for me because there’s a good chance I started this fire myself with my smokin’ hot sense of fashion.”
Never apologize for something that once made you happy. Beth, I drank your Coke. You should really write your name in all-caps next time; it shows you mean business. I mean, nobody will take you seriously in the real world when you swoop your “H” like that. It almost looks cursive, and cursive is never taken seriously. Really though, were you drunk when you wrote this? Pull yourself together, Beth.
That trunk. So much room for activities, like: hiding your mistress from your wife, shopping at Costco, or transporting large quantities of narcotics in order to keep the cartel from slaughtering your family back home in Mexico. I mean, think about it, the possibilities really are endless with that much rear-end volume. By the way, volume is L x W x H for all you mathematically-challenged folk. Yes, I’m talking to you, Arkansas. Speaking of math, did you know most Asians sleep in spaces significantly smaller than the average trunk space of an American car? Yeah. As a matter of fact, in college I once found a foreign-exchange student sleeping in my sock drawer because it reminded him of home. At first I was startled, but then I was like, “Dude, why are the insides of all my socks so sticky?” - #TBT
Getting real serious about this fitness shit. I mean, not only am I at the gym at 11 P.M. on a Monday, but I even “meal prepped” today. And by meal prep I mean: I bought seventy-five dollars worth of Taco Bell gift cards, that should take care of me until Saturday.
No, no, no, fuck this bag. Ice is NOT food. Listen ladies, chomping on some ice is not the same as eating a meal. So the next time you’re on a date, don’t lie and tell him, “I already ate,” because you fiendishly gobbled the leftover ice from your Iced Caramel Macchiato on the way over. That’s no different than him waking up the morning after your date and instantly telling all his friends he took you to “pound town,” because you were kind enough to not give him shit when he purposely brushed your boob on his way to the bathroom. The same rule applies to both situations: it doesn’t count if it doesn’t require napkins. Think about it, all ‘real food’ options at a restaurant will require the use of a napkin to clean up. And well, let’s just say, nacho cheese is a bitch to get out of Egyptian Cotton; so it’s always wise to keep a stack of napkins on your nightstand to lay down as a protective layer before you get freaky. And so, today, my #WCW is any girl that will eat a full meal at 7pm, and still be in the mood for cheese around 10pm.