Emergency Appendectomy and a Slut’s Dating Tip
I had a strange couple of weeks, but I learned from it, babies.
1. If you have a weird stomach ache and it doesn’t go away after 9 hours and you think a fan is your mom, please go to the ER. And get this, I have done one thing right in my life; I got health insurance a couple months ago. Can you imagine me living in Fucked City? Anyway, staying at the hospital was weird. Everyone is the same there. All we want is to be healthy again and we don’t give a shit about wearing ugly dresses. Most importantly, I was wondering when I’d be able to board my booze train to hell. Follow my procedure:
One week later: Took Saturday night easy, a bottle of sake and split a tall beer in the WC, then headed over to the Kona Club in Piedmont for three pints. Sunday morning, gambled my life away at the Oaks Card Club—just don’t go there. There will never be a reason for it—Manhattan after Manhattan. My innards were hurting. My belly button oozed.
Two weeks later: Wasted at our show to the point I couldn’t remember minute-twenty songs I had been singing for a year. At one point I divulged my sexual blunders and then offered glimpses of my “salami nipples.” You can do it too.
2. I have game galore, so listen. Ladies, get your fuck on. No need to feel guilty, just don’t cheat and keep your shit clean. Dear god, how do you stop someone in the middle of getting it on and say, “By the way, would you mind licking around the sores?” Not cool. Dudes, you need to figure your shit out. I’m the only girl where I work so I’ve heard every boring version of their story. If you like a chick, work for it (and I don’t just mean send a text). If you don’t, can you not waster her (my) time. But here’s my big lesson, do not run your mouth. I insist on telling every intimate detail to anyone. Why? People have too much shit on me. And you people tell me shit, and then I tell everyone. So there.
-The Mari
1. If you have a weird stomach ache and it doesn’t go away after 9 hours and you think a fan is your mom, please go to the ER. And get this, I have done one thing right in my life; I got health insurance a couple months ago. Can you imagine me living in Fucked City? Anyway, staying at the hospital was weird. Everyone is the same there. All we want is to be healthy again and we don’t give a shit about wearing ugly dresses. Most importantly, I was wondering when I’d be able to board my booze train to hell. Follow my procedure:
One week later: Took Saturday night easy, a bottle of sake and split a tall beer in the WC, then headed over to the Kona Club in Piedmont for three pints. Sunday morning, gambled my life away at the Oaks Card Club—just don’t go there. There will never be a reason for it—Manhattan after Manhattan. My innards were hurting. My belly button oozed.
Two weeks later: Wasted at our show to the point I couldn’t remember minute-twenty songs I had been singing for a year. At one point I divulged my sexual blunders and then offered glimpses of my “salami nipples.” You can do it too.
2. I have game galore, so listen. Ladies, get your fuck on. No need to feel guilty, just don’t cheat and keep your shit clean. Dear god, how do you stop someone in the middle of getting it on and say, “By the way, would you mind licking around the sores?” Not cool. Dudes, you need to figure your shit out. I’m the only girl where I work so I’ve heard every boring version of their story. If you like a chick, work for it (and I don’t just mean send a text). If you don’t, can you not waster her (my) time. But here’s my big lesson, do not run your mouth. I insist on telling every intimate detail to anyone. Why? People have too much shit on me. And you people tell me shit, and then I tell everyone. So there.
-The Mari
posted by theowlblog at 4:10 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home