Slung. Over.

A slangover (a term which I have just invented to celebrate the New Year) is basically just a hangover for sluts. A slangover is that fire and brimstone induced sashay back to consciousness on the day after New Years Eve when a slut not only feels the skullfucking headache from the it's-cool-I'm-just-in-my-twenties-so-I'm-not-an-alcoholic-yet shitshow from the previous night, but also feels that unsettling, mystery burn in their vagina, dickhole or butthole. Or throat? I guess? I've heard that.

Happy new year, sluts, and enjoy that shit. And on a side note, anyone who calls new years eve "NYE" is a fucking pube and should be annihilated. Fuck you. The only time those letters should be together is if you're taking about the science guy. Or, if you're abbreviating, "New York?! EW!!!" That's acceptable.

Fuck, I'm supposed to go there this summer. NYE!!!!!!!!!!!

Memory Lane Trip!

I am currently eating a delicious breakfast consisting of nothing and a bowl of whipped cream. I swear to God, you can take this bitch to the best seventeen-star restaurant in SoHorrible (see what I did there?) and I will eat the freshest of sushis and the most extravagant beef loins, and I STILL will be happy with a bowl of whipped cream. God made cows so that we could swirl air into their nips and spray whipped cream all over our tongues. It's so delish.

Anyway, I'm sitting here with my bowl of sex and watching RHWOOC. I missed these bitches. The poopiest color of fake tans, the fakest of the fake titties and, surprisingly, the least alcoholic messes of the Bravo TV family of alcoholic messes.

Speaking from experience, it's pretty hard to drink all day and not be at least kiiiiiiind of a mess. We know this from Gorilla Juice Giudice, Ramona Rabid Eyeballs Singer and the Glamorous Brandi Glanville. This may come as a surprise, but I'm actually not going to mention Kim Richards, because her drinking isn't very funny anymore. See? I have emotions or something. Good luck, Kim.

Anyway, these bitches are always holding a goddamn wine glass. Occasionally, I don't even think it's wine. Bitches walk around with wine glasses full of vodka with red food coloring all the time. I don't actually know if that's true, but what a good fucking idea. These bitches never seem to get drunk. They drink and they drink and they make subdued hand gestures so as not to drop their wines, and they just never get wasted! They still have their game on to make total assholes of each other and talk about what whores the other ladies are. It's fun too because they're literally all whores.

I miss these dumb trannies. But I have to say, even though I am a die hard Orange Country superfan, the original birth place of the Real Uneducated Golddiggers of America, these bitches have nothing, and I mean NOTHING on Adrienne Maloof's face. Nothing.

Nothing.

Have A Sexy Christmas

And if you're Jewish, we probably get along.

Poop In My Stocking, For All I Care

I think there is only one question on everybody's mind these days. Why the FUCK do people I don't even know keep asking me what I want for Christmas?!?!?!?!

Let me tell you a secret. If I am NEVER the one that contacts you first, or every time I see you I say, "Omg! How ARE you!?" It means I don't know you that well or I just don't fucking like you. And if that's the case, you can bet your Hanukkah bush that I have not and will not get you a present for ANY kind of holiday. Including your birthday.

I mean, let's be real. I don't even give presents to people I seriously love. I figured that just the fact that I don't consider you an asshole is a gift enough (Editor's note: you are an asshole).

So fuck it. I'm not getting you a present. End of story. BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

Turns out, people I don't really know or like always end up being the queen whores of getting ME a present!

WHY!!!!!!!?????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111

Well, I guess I don't really care why. The point is, people think I'm awesome and just love buying me shit.

If you fall into this category, here are some presents I will accept:


-a blank check

-a pony

-cake

-worldwide recognition of the Potato Famine as the number one most devastating historical tragedy

-a really nice toothbrush

-using science and/or magic, transform me into a baseball that Tim Lincecum will pitch with

-a gay president

-extermination of all spiders

-a contract signed in blood by every model in the world stating that he or she is never again allowed to talk about how "difficult" his or her job really is (side note: breach of contract is punishable by death)


I mean, all of these gifts would be wonderful but even ONE of these would make me soooo happy! My Christmas tree is waiting, bitches. Get it done.

Happy Kwanza.

Emotions

I have them. It hurts sometimes!

Haha, just kidding. I dgaf about feelings (especially yours).

I went to court today! It was actually pretty fun. I mean, I knew nothing bad would happen to me, because I'm awesome, and even though I'm a raging cunt on the inside, I have some kind of disgustingly charming face or something, because people tend to like me. Ha!

So I went in and basically didn't really think about my own case (it's too awesome to write on the internet, but just trust me, It's awesome) so I just watched all the other weirdos go up and talk to the judge before me. I felt like Lindsay Lohan! Except less hungover from redbull vodcoke (see what I did there?) and carpet munching. Everyone in the courtroom was basically an illegal Mexican who got in trouble for driving without a license.

SIDENOTE:

Did you know that you can literally get away with fucking ANYTHING as long as you pay??

NONE of these sucios had a motherfucking driver's license, spoke a word of English, NOR didn't buy all their clothes from WalMart (no judgement) (jk, FUCKTONS of judgement) and none of them had JACK SHIT HAPPEN TO THEM.

The judge was like, "Yo, pay 100 bucks and get the fuck out of here".

Are you serious. You don't need a fucking driver's license to drive!??!?!?

WHY THE FUCK DID I TAKE THE PERMIT TEST!!!!!!!!!!!?????????1111111111ELEVEN

Anyway, I forgot what I was even going to say after that because I'm so amazed at the glory of America.

Dude.

Just found out that the word "deli" is short for "delicatessen" and not short for what I originally thought, "delicious".




FUCK.

THAT.

Movie Night!

What's that? Why do I watch terrifying movies late at night by myself, you ask?

Because I'm a fucking IDIOT.

I am literally the dumbest bitch on the planet (proof of this: I originally wrote "dummest" then went back and fixed it ARE YOU SERIOUS??) Yes I am. GRAPENUTS I am so scared right now. But at this point, I'm about two movies into this marathon of blood-curdling, pain-reflex-feeling, absolutely-not-sexy-timing mindfuck of a movie marathon (yes, I know I said marathon twice, because I fucking meant to and also back the fuck off) and I'm so scared shitless I might as well just watch more and not shit my pants (haha get it because I'm shitless!)

Right now I'm watching Nosferatu to lighten the blow (awesome sidenote: the score to this movie makes me think of "My Little Pony") WHO'S SCARED NOW BITCH?? I am. I'm fucking scared.

I'm thinking about what a person thinks about as they sit down to write a screenplay scarier than the thought of drinking a gallon of vaginal discharge from some smelly lady's poon. Ha, I'm going to write a screenplay about that later. Anyway, if I were going to write a scary movie, it would probably be about a little girl. Because little girls are FUCKING TERRIFYING. Not little boys though. Because boys are cool and girls in general are just awful anyway.

So it would be about a little girl who is possessed by a demon or something and wanders around the town at night doing...well, something terrible. Like, turning the whole town's supply of drinking water into vaginal discharge!

Obviously I'm still on this vaginal discharge kick. Not sure why, but it looks like it's here to stay. You know what? That's just awful! Forget the demon possessed little girl. Here's my screenplay. We all wake up one morning and all the water in the world has become VAGINAL DISCHARGE!!!!!

That would be awesome because girls would all just be like, "Ehh, whatever. This is my life every day swimming around in my own panties." But all the guys would be FUCKING HORRIFIED. Their lives would forever be smothered by the evil vagina-spew that they try so hard to avoid, even though they are constantly putting their fucking faces right in the line of fire (and we love you for it).

Hilarious. I'm going to be famous.

Bad News

Turns out, the only person who reads this blog (mom and sometimes dad [it's fine, they're one person]) actually stopped reading it YEARS AGO.

The convo:

ME: Mom. Why haven't I been getting texts from you and/or dad that say things like, "Hi! You wrote a blog! Good for you! Love, Dad"? Oh, by the way, you reeeaaaaally don't need to sign off because I fucking know it's you because...well...that's how fucking cellphones work. CRAZY.

MOM: Oh, honey. I don't read your blog anymore. It's straight up disgusting.

That's love.

In other news, one of my roommates has explosive poop soup and I can hear it through the walls!

Sometimes I just feel so small and insignificant in this universe. Because, really, aren't we all just a hardened ball of pee in God's cat's litter box?

I think the real question here is: does God scoop us out himself? Or, does he have one of those automatic litter box robots that rakes us into bags?

Thanks for listening, no one.