Back when I temporarily cut off my full beard and I could be seen smiling because it didn’t look goofy as fuck. (And if you must know, I was mocking a dude wearing a deep v-neck.) #TBT
Kids these days. I mean, what kind of girl lays on top of a dude wearing Skechers? What happened in her childhood? Why does she have such low standards for herself? Have some self-respect, girl. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you; don’t let yourself be labeled as ‘that girl’ at such a young age. Wait until you graduate college, then start laying on dudes with Skechers. Because at that point they are probably rich, geeky, computer dudes who can buy you nice things and take you on dates to places that don’t have a drive-thru. They’ll still be nerdy and poorly-dressed, but fuck it, wear big sunglasses when you’re with him in public—nobody will recognize you… I’m kidding, never date a dude wearing Skechers, because he’s probably gay and he’ll totally break your heart when he leaves you to open a cupcake shop in Santa Barbara with Stefan, the Brazilian hairdresser with hips that don’t lie.
What ever happened to good ol’ fashion flirtation? This is why chivalry is dead—nobody tries anymore. #HopelessRomantic
#throwbackwheneverIwant - I’ve seen enough scary movies to know: if you don’t want your kid to become a possessed, haunted, little fuck—all you have to do is follow three simple rules. One, don’t move into an old-ass house and expect your children to play with the creepy, wooden toys left behind by the deceased. It’s not 1922—buy your kid an iPad and pre-load that iOS garbage with Temple Run. (You’ll thank me later when your family sleeps at night because your child didn’t awaken the dead by toying with some weird, satanic rocking horse.) Two, don’t give your kids crayons. Without these, children can’t draw disturbing crap like aliens, family stabbings, or the old woman who visits them at night. Out of sight, out of mind. In fact, you might as well play it safe and not give them anything artistic at all—this includes music lessons—next thing you know, innocent little Damien is summoning the devil with Nickelback covers on his clarinet. And that my friends, brings us to number three. Stop giving your kids freaky fucking names like Damien, Aiden, Jack, Beyonce, or Chad! Seriously, Chad?! Come on, you might as well name your child “Lucifer’s Pen Pal” because you know that little shit will be talking with Satan years before he talks to a girl.
Captain’s Log: I only drink water when I’m out of soy sauce. Although—if I drank more water and moved to Oregon—this label tells me I could make a nickel for every bottle I recycle. (Side note: they offer nickels because there are no dimes in Oregon—I’ve seen their women.) Anyway, with a pocket full of nickels, I bet I could buy some pretty sweet Christmas presents this year. After all, it’s never too early to start saving—Christmas is in 107 days! And by that I mean: you have exactly 106 days to break up with your boyfriend/girlfriend and save all those nickels for yourself. Those are your nickels! Listen ladies, don’t waste your coinage buying some shit bag a puppy when he really wanted a Bath & Body Works gift card to get more body cream for God-knows-what. “You fucking dickhead, you know how much fucking water I had to fucking drink to buy that!?” (Girls swear a lot when they’re mad.) Seriously though, you don’t want to have that conversation on Christmas. I however, will gladly take a puppy. Because dogs rule. Your weird, metro, body cream boyfriend drools.