*blue balls not included.
Outta here, bitches! *Round off, back handspring, back handspring...and back tuck.* Damn.
By now we’ve all heard of my ominous, intuitive suggestion on the Browns ridding itself of freaking Edwards.
Here, take this. Imma gonna need this hand for some shit lata.
We can all take a big breath while we wait for Mangina to serve some more smack down.
Down Lowwww. I get it!
Where was I drunk fuckers… this post goes beyond the Walk of Shames, the “Imma-so-gonna-smack-you” and Passing Out in Handicapped Stalls on Your Birthday kind of drunk. I’m talking… really, really stupid — almost harmful stupid, drunk.
Like, for instance, eating an entire can of baked beans covered in hot BBQ sauce. Who does that?
Or, leaving the oven on… actually reheating something, then falling asleep drunk.
Having someone drop you off at home, taking your pants off in the hallway, with door wide open, plus keys still in the doorknob drunk.
Cutting cheese. Or your finger. Err, drunk.
What say you, football fans? We obvs need massive amounts of alcohol to endure (yet another) losing season. I’m not a basketball fan, so guess I’ll be hibernating my sorrows in massive amounts of a Whiskey Haze until April Opening Day comes to disappoint. Admit your stupid drunk and entertain the rest of the roster.
Ooh, what’s that? We have hockey! Stay tuned for your starting line-up…
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This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
