The word “enthusiast” is the foundation of every good euphemism: urban camping enthusiast, change-collecting enthusiast, heroin enthusiast…
77
Next time I get drunk, blow countless lines and thrash a hotel room while assaulting my romantic interest, I’ll claim it was an allergic reaction. Hey, it’s working for Charlie Sheen.
76
If somebody writes a touching memoir about being marooned on the Carnival cruise ship, we’ve reached an impressive new low in humanity.
75
Let’s have a moment of silence for the political career of Rich Whitney, the Green Party gubernatorial candidate in Illinois whose name was misspelled “Rich Whitey” in 23 wards on the voting machines.
74
Storming the Westboro Baptist Church this afternoon to interrupt a solemn funeral procession. My protest sign: “God hates nutjobs”.
73
She unfriended me. Beset by inconsolable grief and with no other choice, I did what any reasonable person would do: I poked the shit out of her.
72
I’m at the liquor store and I forget my ID. I pull out my work badge for substance abuse counseling and say, “Now what kind of substance abuse counselor would I be if I hadn’t experimented with a couple of my own? Trust me. I’M OF AGE.”
71
My pickled is totally brain. Too much fun in the sun.
70
“Wait… Jocelyn, you have a Facebook account? I always figured you’d rather be climbing trees or something.”
69
I can’t believe you frothed that swamp donkey. You know who you are.
