Category Archives: dance party

Boats and Hoes: Installment 1: The Tame Version


i’m going to be honest about the tie-up.

it’s a shit show.  
a goddamn shit show.

and one year that i went – i almost died.  
not even kidding.

i may have been a tiny bit wasted while treading water when a large man canon-balled on top of me causing me to crack my skull on the underside of the boat. where i may have blacked out.  and then was hoisted out of the water by some nice gentlemen while a group of gawking fellow drunks looked on hoping that i didn’t drown.  and then i collapsed back at the house and ate shit into a pile of rocks.  i was battered and bruised.

but this year i vowed that it would be different.  that i would redeem myself.  and i’d like to think that i did.
but in an effort to string you along – i’m just submitting some subdued photos and a video.

because tomorrow’s post has got the good shit.  like thongs, and packages, and hot chicks, and gratuitous water sex.

you’re welcome.

and may i just preface this video with the fact that it was only noon at this point and got progressively worse and worse.

Advertisements
Tagged ,

The Chain ‘O Lakes Made Me Its Bitch


sweet lord.

ever have one of those weekends where you require at least 48 hours in bed to recover?  or the phrase “i’m too old for this shit” comes to mind?  or it dawns on you that you’re a loser compared to shitler’s aunt and uncle – who are quite possibly the coolest people ever.  i mean – the type of people that know everyone and party harder than anyone i’ve ever met.  it’s incredible.

i don’t know how else to describe the events other then it included boats, water, booze, shitler licking men’s faces, jack russell terriers, zero recovery time, tan lines like a motherfucker, more booze, bands, crazy bachelorette parties, booze, etc.

i can’t do it justice in words – so bear with me as i inundate you with photos.

and then there’s this picture.  which is pretty much my favorite.  because i don’t know what’s going on.  and i can’t even imagine what the caption should be.

Tagged , , ,

All A Twitter.


i can only imagine what his dumbass is dreaming about.

Tagged , ,

Random Shit That Made Me Happy


in the form of three pictures.

my sparkly nails. and vodka.

these flowers that i bought for myself and my inconveniently sized vases.

my new fucking glasses. finally.

that is all.

Tagged

Textual Feeling: B’s B-Day!


in trying to honor b on the day of his birth and his cursed existence in my life since i encountered him however many years ago – i give you these:

***

me: i had asparagus with dinner last night and my pee has smelled alllll day.
b: i love when that happens.

***

b: why aren’t we supposed to cry over spilled milk?  if not cleaned up properly, spilled milk can get pretty nasty.  that seems like something to cry over.

—— (this is me ignoring him)

b

—— (this is me ignoring him again)

b:

—— (me ignoring him)

b: EVENTUALLY YOU WILL RESPOND TO ME.
me: those are old news bitch.
b: la dee da.  i just had them sent to me.  sorry for thinking you’d enjoy them too.  now answer my question.
me: i guess my answer would be that i wouldn’t give a shit because a dog or cat would lick it up and it wouldn’t be my fucking problem anymore.
b: why are you so bitchy today?
me: i need a drink.

***

b: well, it’s what she wants.
me: all that she wants?
b: you got it.
me: what about another baby?
b: that’s me.  duh.
me: quit being obtuse and acknowledge my ace of base reference.
b: nope.  i refuse to give you that satisfaction.

***

so here’s to b.  on his fucking bday.  

here’s to many more times we get hammered and make poor choices while shitler judges us, to hours spent watching “my cat from hell,” and to discussing books and how much we love them in front of shitler till his head explodes.  

to vodka presses (with lime -because if you prefer them without – odds are you’re a fucking communist) and john daly’s, and ranch dressing on the thighs of hot girls.

to daring me to steal shit when i get drunk out of my skull, to encouraging you to drunk dial people and leave embarrassing messages, and most importantly – here’s to poor-decision making (especially on your bday).

Tagged , ,

In My Mind I’m Not Insane. Not All The Way, At Least.


albert einstein said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

my night began with this:

distinguished. i know.

and then continued with vodka, more vodka, bar dice, and shots.

now i feel like this:

but then i found this:

and then life was good.

until shitler called to tell me that he bought toilet paper, 16 oz cans of nati light, and a bottle of scotch.

whatever freak-wad.

Regular DJ Jesus Would Get Trumped By Raptor DJ Jesus


i thought sodium cat and the honey badger were the only things getting me through this day.  a day that led to discover that not every adult knows the alphabet.

but this is by far the best.  i like nothing more than satirical jesus.

Run DMC Gets Major Pussy


fat belly

big eyed motherfucker.

play on playa.

It’s Fucked Up That I’ll Probably Never Be A Lumberjack


i’m obsessed with flannel. 

and anything with a checkered pattern. 

and anything lumber-jack related.

don’t judge me.

here are some examples.

 

i also have some in red, blue, and pink.  in retrospect i could have gotten a pile of them together and taken a picture.  eh.  hindsight.

here’s some photographic evidence of me stealing the flannel that lincoln got from his parents for xmas.

and most importantly, seven brides for seven brothers.

i’ve watched this movie a gazillion times and i can’t for the life of me remember whether the brothers are lumberjacks or not.  but at one point in the movie i know they’re chopping wood.  and that’s good enough for me.  i guess it’s mainly about a bunch of brothers that can’t let any of their other brothers have a tiny bit of individuality.
but what i do know is that i would like to be a lumberjack for day.  mainly for the flannel.
ok only for the flannel. 

and only if i could get a blue ox named babe like paul bunyan.

and only if the ox is a spray painted corgi.

but that won’t happen.  i just have Chuck McCat.  and he’s terrible with an ax.

he is great at napping.


Tumor Muffin Cometh.


here i stand.  i can do no other.
martin luther said that.

but i’m not standing.  i’m sitting.

because i’m weak. 
this weekend was hard on my mind, body, and soul.

it began with this:

nom nom nom

i got so excited when my entrée came that i immediately shoveled it into my mouth without taking a picture. 
i make no apologies.  that shrimp and crab cannelloni was orgasmic.
nothing got too out of hand, thank god, which is surprising considered i packed in 5 drinks and 3 shots.

B is photo bombing.

i’m currently in a food and alcohol comatose state.
monday i resume my diet and i could not be more excited for that.
in the meantime i’ve managed to pack in the following:

tumor muffin.

BACON.

beyond.

it looks like i’m obsessed with breakfast foods.
but in reality – i’m just obsessed with all food.

like this:

cock cake.

or inappropriate things like these:

i wish.

kinky pussy.

b and i are working on murdering this:

sinner.

well, with that, i must bid thee farewell.
i have a lot of drinking and bad decisions to fit into a single afternoon.

wish me luck.

Tagged ,