I don't give a goddamn rat's ass what you skanks wear,
I don't give a shit about any goddamn blogcation.
I don't give a fuck about some hair loss (just kidding, I'm not that much of a bitch, but without Xanax, my priorities are a bit skewed)
I don't give a dick about any missing song lyrics , law suits, a strike or any other whiny ass titty baby excuses you may have for skipping out on your job.
THE BOOZE AND PILL SUPPLY HAS DRIED UP. GET THE FUCK BACK TO WORK HO(s)!!
Now, it's time for
My tits are fucking ridiculous and should quite possibly be registered as a deadly weapon. I broke a fucking bra!
I was standing in the bathroom wearing my strapless bra and panties while getting ready to go to a wedding when all of a sudden, I heard a loud "POP!"
I watched in horror as the snap on the front of my ginormous bra ricocheted like a bullet shot out of a high powered fucking riffle off the mirror and then embedded itself into the wall behind me.
If not for my mad Ninja Ducking Skillz, I would have lost my goddamn eye. I heard a huge sigh of relief and then my boobs broke free and ate the fucking dogs.
If I were a cheap stripper I would so change my name to Melanie Mammaries.
Speaking of strippers. Duke and I got married in Vegas. After attending the wedding last night, I have one question. When did weddings stop being about the bride and groom, about celebrating love and an open goddamn bar?
It has become a cluster fuck of details.
Pick your flowers, pick your colors, the date, the food, first dance song, party favors, mementos, and on and on. Just the thought of all that bullshit would have me contemplating death by fucking Drain-o.
Let me plan a wedding. I think the perfect first dance song would be "Another One Bites the Dust".
Party favors, and wedding mementos? Fuck a goddamn box of cutesy Hershey kisses with names and date on the bottom.
I think Xanax in a pretty box for a party favor would be the shit. How about a sweaty guy named Lou set up in the back ready to tattoo our names and wedding date on the body part of your choice? Now THAT is a fucking memento asshats.
After last night I have come to the conclusion that some people are like a fucking slinky....not good for a damn thing, but you still can't help but smile when you shove them down the stairs.
It's almost time for the NASCAR race in Atlanta, so I will leave you with the advice I gave the Bride when we left...