“She’s ugly” turned into “she’s okay.” “She’s okay” turned into “she’s hot.” And “she’s hot” turned into Cassie Ventura.
My brain did not start unless I’d mainlined some black coffee.
There are moments when your life leaps out of your chest. There are times when you feel the burning betrayal of all that you thought was good and true. The time when a Sheriff slams you down onto the hood of his cruiser because you backed away from him as he pulled out the handcuffs, that’s one of those times.
Now is the time to go to that hallowed hall of all things “This Drink Cost More Than My Dress,” Forever 21.
I dreamed, you know, like we all do when we’re young, that I would grow up to be something great, an inspirational part of the world. Significant. Someone who was something.
Last April, a medical doctor advised me to cut back on my coffee intake and I laughed in his face.
In the case of “Zombie,” no one really knows more than ten words to it, anyway, so as long as you can shout “Zombay-ay-ay!” and “In your head! In your hay-ay-ay-ead!,” you’re more than in.
When a friend asks you why you can’t come to an all-night rager, you simply send them a picture of Lindsay Lohan circa today and write, “Because I don’t want this to happen to me.”
Regardless of the reason you choose to pregame, you should be aware of some unintended side effects. First, there is a distinct chance that you’ll never actually make it out to the event that you are pregaming for.
White Russians: Big Lebowski themed X-mas brunches. Obviously.