January 31st 11:47pm - Thai Gramma's Birfday

Two friends and I ventured to Thailand and Laos this past summer. We grounded in Bangkok and caught a tuk-tuk (essentially a motorized rickshaw) from the airport to the center of the city. The tuk-tuk driver deposited us on the most frenzied, frisky street he could find and then flatly fled. (Picture: Bangkok)
Wobbling with unwieldy backpacks, shedding street sellers, hunting for our booked hotel, and absorbing broad beers consumed the next hour and a half. Within two days we acclimated ourselves and altered into haggling automatons. Within three days we journeyed to Ayutthaya, Thailand’s capitol from the 14th-18th centuries, 50 miles north of Bangkok.

The tuk-tuk driver absconded after discovering our Ayutthayan guesthouse’s sign. We looked as he left and then edged onto the imprecise path to find a toothless Thai ancient, thrilled for more guests, serving a twenty-something Aussie man lunch at an outdoor table. Five minutes later exposed us seated, drinking, awaiting the food the cook (toothless Thai ancient) pledged would be prepared within minutes, and which the Aussie promised was premium. Gramma distributed food, hugs, and toothless kisses. We expended the next few hours devouring Chang beer and consorting with the Aussie and Gramma, who maintained the same staggering beer consumption. Gramma frequently announced, “It my birfday,” compelling her to chug a beer and us to celebrate. We, temporarily inebriated, briefly deserted the festivities to tour some ruins and temples. We returned to a comparable scene, Aussie and Gramma drinking at the table, now accompanied by a few Thai women, another Aussie man, and an Indian man. Three Irish girls disembarked at Gramma’s Guesthouse, shortly participating in the partying, and within minutes of seating, were served dinner and toothless kisses. (Picture: Gramma spoon-feeding one of my friends of her own volition).

The night progressed, one of my friends surrendered to the room, debilitated by food poisoning, while my other friend and I continued the revelry. Gramma repeatedly revealed, “It my birfday!” attended with a grin and a beer chug, generally followed shortly by her settling herself on someone’s lap. The Aussie replied with, "Legend!" "Champion!" continually referring to Gramma as one or the other. Hours elapsed, and nighttime divulged me, my friend (the two Americans), two Aussies, Gramma, an Irishwoman, a Canadian man, and three other Thai women – one complete with perm – in the back of a truck being driven to Thai bars. The group imbibed two enormous beer dispensers, which we employed as innovative beer bongs, which led to Gramma dancing on tables, swaying to the music. (Picture: Gramma on tables).
In our return to the truck, we boarded the wrong truck bed. Another bar divulged Gramma asleep at a table. Our return to the hotel constituted ganja, alcohol, and wandering. My friend and I arrived at the room at five-thirty in the morning. We awoke hours later to find the Aussies and Gramma had initiated their day’s drinking at 6am. The first thing Gramma declared to us that morning, “It my birfday!”

January 29th 12:15pm - Text Conversation

Me: "A homeless man just told me he loved me and would put me up in a condo if I married him. Justified the marriage by saying the president is his race so Mom should be okay."
Brother: "Two nights ago a homeless black man introduced himself to us as Barack Obama and asked if he could borrow a boogie board. When we hesitated he went into a spiel about denying the president a boogie board because he was black. Then we explained to him none of us have a boogie board. He was alright with that."
Brother: "It was funny too because it was 11pm and he wouldn't be going to the beach right then and I was wondering how he was going to get to the beach anyway since he was homeless and I was assuming he didn't have a car. He seemed undeterred though."
Me: "Bum determination."
Brother: "Ya, it's legendary."

January 28th 4:27pm - Car Stealing

Four months shy of my 16th birthday, my parents departed to winery-revelry, and left me home accidentally accompanied by a spare set of my mom’s car keys. Speaking on the phone with my best friend, I established I couldn’t come to her house because I had no ride. I then defectively disclosed I knew the spare key’s location.
Her immediate response: Drive over here now!
My reply: No, I’m not serious, no.
Her: I’m hanging up, I’ll see you in ten minutes!
Me (to an abandoned phone): No, I... oh, all right.
And I drove. Hands horrified, body brandishing, substantially sweating, foot fluttering, I drove, distressed, to my best friend’s house. She cantered to the car and we escaped, ecstatic for our impulsive profitable plan. We circuited through the countryside, gas-station-baffled, halting for sandwiches, delighting in our independence. Driving along a two-lane rounded road, the car abruptly stumbled into a dip and the car careened, I, helpless, as the car spun in an intact 180. We screeched and shrieked. The car stopped in the opposite lane facing, fortunately, the correct way. I continued driving. We were elated to live. I rambled back to her house, and then to my own. Her parents immediately bombarded her with questions. The following day my parents inquired if I did anything illegal over the weekend. They clearly already knew, so I replied with the truth.
Though I pilfered my mom’s car, my best friend’s punishment was far greater, because she lied.

January 27th 8:35am - LV Quotebook

SP: "Did you spill beer on me last night?"
K: "No, you spilled beer on me."

SP: "I know by experience I should pee in toilets."

SP: "No officer, I'm not trying to drive anywhere. I'm just trying to walk."

SP: "I've had massages at the Airport Club... it's kind of weird having a co-worker play around with your butt."

SP: "I just want to put my money in everything!"
(five minutes later): "I want to put more money in more things!"

SP: "What the fuck is in my ass?"

K: "I'm drunk. I may flirt with little kids. I'm obsessed with them."
SP: "Really?"
K: "Yes. I love them."
SP: "So you had sex with little kids?"
K: "What?? No!"

M (a man): "I don't check out guys. I comment when they're pretty."

January 26th 10:15am - Vegas. Again. You Know You're Drunk When...

My roommate and best friend supplied us, her best high school friends, with feeble excuses for not attending the past two New Year’s Vegas excursions. Last week she proclaimed she was journeying to Las Vegas with her boyfriend and thirteen of his friends for the weekend.
We, her uninvited high school friends, executed the only logical exploit… we road tripped to Vegas and bombarded her.

The following are from the one night we devoted to Vegas.

You Know You’re Drunk When…

* You inhale a cigar, lit end in your mouth, your mouth fills with ash, and you refuse your friend’s offer to acquire water.

* You take three Jager shots at 3pm after having just concluded a buffet brunch with unlimited champagne.

* You inundate your friend with your presence, surprising her, at a German Brewery entitled Hofbrauhaus.

* Your friend departs for a sexual hypnotist, and you stay at the Hofbrauhaus for hours, parading around, dancing on tables, and yelling to one another through the restaurant/bar.

* Two of your friends instruct you to watch your other friend. You meet them outside shortly after without your responsibility, not remembering you were entrusted with another person.

* Your friend returns inside to find you slumped over a chair next to a family with young children. The parents present you with a knowing laugh.

* You get into bed at 9:30pm, lights out, only to determine you are not done with Vegas and you are going out again.

* You and a friend trek to Hooters, climb an obstacle in the form of a fence, and both plummet from the fence, damaging your knees. You persist to Hooters.

* You enter Hooters requesting Band aids for your hands, shirt and hair disheveled, limping, and wanting wings. You lose your friend at Hooters.

* You depart Hooters and your friend, instead strolling the strip in search of a sleeping spot. An off-duty police officer awakes you in Mandalay Bay’s arena querying if you’re alright and how you got in, because the arena was closed. You’re next to a concessions stand. You don’t know how you entered the arena.

* You don’t know your room number and the front desk attendant forces your friend to walk over to get you at 4am.

* The next day your fence-scaling friends both have substantial limps. People gawk at you everywhere you go.

* You lost two hats the night before. You locate your black cowboy hat at Mandalay Bay. They inform you it was found in the parking garage. You don’t recall being in a parking garage. You locate your black baseball cap in the back of another friend’s car.

January 23rd 2:55pm - That Kid #3

I progressed playing goalie throughout my tenure as a corpulent child. One mundane game, the ball didn’t even enter my Goalie Precinct in the first half. In the second half, stir-studded child that I was, my indulgences compelled me to sit in the grass, pick flowers and string them together into intricate flower-chains. Consequently, I installed myself in a particularly flower-filled area in front of the goal and labored at my flower-chains, my swelled stomach only intermittently inhibiting my flower-focus. Flower field fancies flipped in my fantasies. Abruptly, cheers and applause charged my ears. I looked up to a forward on the other team fifteen feet away drawing her leg back to strike a shot at the goal. At me. I leapt to my feet as the ball flared through the air. I caught the ball and dropkicked it. I realized afterwards, my initial petrified reaction to a ball hurrying toward my head was to pee my pants.
I peed my pants in the middle of a game because my focus had been on flower-chains.
I was that kid.

January 22nd 4:26pm - That Kid #2

By 3rd grade I hadn’t increased in height, but had radically in width. I am confident “Big Fat Goalie” was a universal idiom in referencing me, though never explicitly addressed to me. I continue convinced I prevented so many goals not by my hands, but my mass.
One semi-final game I deflected a tremendous total of balls. Tied 0-0, my teammates toiled on the field, sprinting and scampering in several directions.
Then It happened. I observed as an attack assaulted first my midfielders, then defenders. Four girls on the other team loped through my last three protectors, I alone deposited in front of the goal. Ball-Handler blasted the ball far to my right. Reverberations resounded through my head as the ball clanked off the post and into the goal. I, disheartened, vainly suspended my tears and reached under the net to extract the ball. Still in the net, I kicked it to a lingering teammate, disappointment echoing through her face. I stepped forward to discover my glove immovably trapped in the net. I rapidly rotated, struggling, trying to loosen my caught glove with my other gloved hand. The game stalled due to my net-encased location and the referee inquired if I was okay. I replied in the affirmative, hoping he would just wait for me to loosen the net myself. But, he trotted to me and released my glove.
I got scored on and then the game delayed so the ref could liberate my glove from the net’s grip.
I was that kid.

January 21st 11:57pm - That Kid

In 1st grade my parents raged at my school district and for 2nd grade transferred me to Rincon Valley Christian School. My brother and sister remained in my former school district, but I got shifted. From a public to a private school, I merely knew sports. Consequently, I played basketball.
I awoke the morning of an early qualifying game enthused and edgy. I wanted to be brilliant. I wanted to control the court.
Honestly, I craved to get my ears pierced. I, second grade genius, figured performing amazingly in a game = a flawless stratagem to persuade the parents to allow pierced ears.
My resolve rising through warm-ups, my anxiety assembled. I waited, uneasy, until halfway through the first quarter my coach put me in the game. Spirit striking my body, I knew what I had to achieve: greatness.
I darted onto the court. Ready. Seconds later someone shot the ball. I dashed through everyone and got the rebound. I sprinted to the opposite side of the court, outpacing everyone, and flung the ball for a lay-up. A smile shrouded my face. Success, I thought. Until a teammate notified me we were going the other way and I had just made a basket for our opponents.
I was that kid.

January 20th 6:09pm - Bums and Hobos?

* At a red light today I observed a man street-side clutching an artistically adorned sign proclaiming, “Need money for food.” Flowers radiated from the letters, colors entwining. The thirty-something man sported a department-store sweater similar to one I recently witnessed at Macys, well-fitting jeans, and dusky tennis shoes. Curious, I revolved the window down and inquired, “Where do you live?”
He replied, specifying a superior neighborhood location.
Me: “So you’re not a bum.”
Poser: “Na, just unemployed.”

* My mom’s office resides next to a Trader Joe’s in Santa Rosa, constantly inundated with a bum at the parking lot entrance. A few months ago my mom and a few co-workers stood in their office’s entryway, watching as a quality Station Wagon halted and a younger man emerged from the driver’s seat. He ambled to the rear of the automobile, plunked a wheelchair from the trunk, and brandished it, loops over his head. He settled it on the ground, sauntered to the passenger side, and kissed his significant other good-bye. She materialized, loped around the car to the driver’s seat, and drove away. He gazed about, resolved nobody’s focus on himself, and slumped into the chair, slothfully wheeling, deflated facial expression. He positioned at the parking lot entrance with a sign declaring, “I’m handicapped, please help.”

January 18th 4:36pm - Towed

Following the Long-Island-infested-Golden-Chopsticks-depravity, and charging to my Jetta at 7am to find it towed at 6am, I revisited my friend’s house, apology in hand. She mercifully roused herself enough to drive me to the tow truck yard across San Francisco. She deposited me at the tow yard, I paid $425 for my car’s release, and trailed an escort to the site my car would be driven to. Fifteen impatient minutes later, an attendant informed me my car was un-drivable and I needed to consult Claims.
When I finally beheld the car, the bumper was completely disconnected from the Jetta and rested on the pavement. The VW insignia usually on the car’s front lay on the windshield. The genius “experienced” tow truck driver attached the connectors to the bumper instead of the car’s body. When I asked how long the driver had been working to equate experienced, I was told six days.
Good news: the towing company paid for the fix, a rental car for the duration, and I added an already-cracked windshield into the equation.

January 17th, 2009 5:45pm - Golden Chopsticks

A few summers ago I temporarily lived in Santa Rosa but visited some friends residing in San Francisco.
The Plan: Poleng’s Happy Hour (25cent chicken wings, $3 drafts = heaven), then drive back to Santa Rosa that night so I could attend work the following morning.
The Reality: Polengs initiated a bar stumble down Haight Street where we met a Random (man in yellow beanie) who purchased a turquoise necklace for me on the street regardless of my protests (notice turquoise necklace). We consumed a deluge of Long Island Iced Teas (Vodka, Tequila, Rum, Gin, Triple Sec, Sweet and Sour Mix, and a splash of Coca-Cola – clearly a catastrophic compound), and I concluded the night on my friend’s couch. I awoke the following morning, my face adorned with permanent pen, which I immediately eradicated. I failed to perceive the swastikas on my right calf and the bottom of my foot until days later.
*Side note: if devious “Chiefing” desired: location recommendations: calf or bottom of foot*
I launched my life together and rushed to my car, still hopeful of arriving at work on time.
My car had been towed.
In following months, my friends and I consistently referred to the Long Island Bar of Debauchery as Golden Chopsticks. Months later we realized the actual bar's name: Golden Cane. We still refer to it as Golden Chopsticks.

January 16th 3:34pm – Air Freshener

At my last job I reported directly to an executive of the company. A benevolent man in his late 50’s, he equated a dad. One day he requested I procure air freshener for his office. He didn’t enjoy the acrid smells permeating his nostrils every time he entered. I consented and ordered him a battery-operated spray freshener.
Days later I stood, demonstrating the device to him. I placed the spray can inside the apparatus and aligned the setting to reflect one spray every twenty minutes. He, seated, insisted looking at it before I situated it on a side table across the room. I passed it to him and he held it in front of his face, observing the white plastic. As I warned him, “I don’t know when it’s going to spray, so I probably wouldn’t hold it so...” the spray emitted from the canister directly into his face. His eyes fluttered, his mouth sputtered, his paunch wavered. Laughter ruptured my body and I dashed from the room, his astonished-shocked-pained reaction mentally repeating. Upon my return to my desk, I discovered the air freshener accompanied by a note: “Please get another air freshener. One that doesn’t spray.”

January 15th 11:48am - Toga After-Party

Last semester I fled Northern California for SLO, Santa Barbara, Malibu, and L.A. for a week, three friends in tow. Our final destination: San Diego. We judged Mexico a feasible prospect until notified Americans can enter Mexico without a passport, but can’t exit without a passport. As we contained only one passport between us, the Mexico scheme was reserved for another occasion.
One of our sojourns was my brother’s USC frat toga party. After much alcohol absorption, dancing, and toga lechery, we returned to my brother’s apartment for continued revelry. Two friends and I subsided on my brother’s bed, exhausted. I announced my intention for a twenty-minute nap and slithered into slumber.
I awoke forty minutes later, rejuvenated and energized to continue the festivities. I departed my brother’s room, leaving my two friends asleep, and infiltrated the masses satiating my brother’s apartment. Two stereotypical blonde skeletal Southern Cal girls, faces veiled with make-up, awarded me with disgusted gawks. I disregarded them and persisted in evading the crowds seeking Brother, friends, or cousins. More strangers’ repulsive glances caused me to observe my clothes. Nothing amiss. Shortly after, one of my cousins perceived me across the room and raced to me. He recommended I look in the mirror. I did to find thick black permanent pen lines drawn across my eyebrows, fashioning the most unsightly unibrow I have ever witnessed. My face was complete with three teardrops in the corner of my eye, allegedly a gang sign for how many people I’ve killed.

January 13th 11:25pm - Plumber

Yesterday I supplied my mom with the vast pleasure of my presence in her house. She eventually departed, leaving my solitary self at home. I showered upstairs in my bathroom without ensuring bathing necessities. As I’m rarely home, my bath essentials are liable to location transfer. After the amazingly sweltering shower stopped, I discerned only one towel in the bathroom, a tiny towel. A hand towel. I swathed my body with the minute material (aka gripped it strategically over the front of my body) when I realized my clothes backpack was at the bottom of the stairs. I descended the stairs and stooped, delving through my chaotic clothes. I faced into the house, my rear exposed, front concealed. “Hello?” a voice behind me spoke. We had left the front door open. I rotated to behold a plumber in the doorway. I shrieked and scampered to the nearest blockade (guest bedroom door) as he simultaneously abundantly apologized. My mom text messaged me seven minutes later to warn me a plumber was arriving soon.

January 11th 11:49pm - Text Mirth

"I popped the champagne at 6. Now waiting for the bus but I'm weaving and losing feeling in my mouth."

"Walking on top of things while making loud noises and pouring free shots in peoples mouths is my dream job."

"Cowboy hats just say, 'Here I am, and I have come to party.'"

"Me to my roomate, 'How did I get home last night?' She says, 'We got a ride from two Italians that didn't speak English, in a bat mobile." Me: 'Bat mobile!'
Best birthday ever!"

"Yolo court has notified me that I owe $350 and lost my license for the month of February... for a speeding ticket. Balls."

January 9th 7:38pm - Bubba-Head

A few years ago my friends and I presented ourselves at a friend’s 2-keg party – affectionately christened a kegger – in lofty spirits. As custom, we contended in eternal beer pong and flip cup battles. One of the hosts (our beloved friend) passed out in the hallway, complete with pillow and blanket. Twenty paces away lay his bed. We elected to be exceptional revelers. We embellished his face with red permanent pen. Another friend had recently procured a dog, whom we entitled Bubba. We scrawled “Bubba” across his forehead, “Filthy” (a nickname... not his nickname) transversely on his cheek, some additional gibberish, and fashioned his lips in red lipstick (aka red permanent marker). After continued late-night festivities, we ultimately absconded back to our residences, host’s ornamented face forgotten.

The following afternoon he called us, decidedly displeased. He had awoken that morning late for work. Lacking time, he dashed to his car in the previous night’s attire and launched his car down the street. Almost to work, he glimpsed his Bubba-Filthy-red-lipsticked face in his review mirror. Removing marker endeavors futile, he seized a hat from his backseat, dragged it low over his face, and exited his car for work. His job: valet.

The Shop

Welcome to The Shop!

Check out current shirt offerings. They've been custom designed with phrases that only abound from sheer genius.

* Click on the pictures for a full-screen version*


"Good News, Bad News

Good News: You Look Hot

Bad News: I'm Drunk"

"No, Officer,

I'm not trying to drive,

I'm trying to walk"

"My liver hates me.

My life thinks I'm fantastic"

"All Women Are Crazy"

January 6th 10:23pm - Vegas. New Years. You Know You're Drunk When (#2)...

5 nights. 10 males. 3 females. Strippers. Limo. Beaker-Shots. 70's House. VEGAS.

You Know You're Drunk When...

* You attempt to sell shots while your girlfriend straddles your male friends. The promoter's accord: you sell a shot, you take a shot.

* You lick an obscene amount of salt from a stripper's nipples. You think it's hot.

* Your friends force you to exit the cab. You judge it a smart decision to run home. You sprint through a drug deal. A black man chases you half a mile.

* Following the half-mile-chase, FunHog Ranch allures you. The bouncer cautions you it is a gay bar, and even though a male, you accept that. You enter. You exit running.

* You borrow a stranger's phone and as a joke run away with it.

* By the conclusion of the five-night spree, as a male you've kissed more men than women.

* You initiate a dance party in the center of New York New York's casino at 4am while waiting for a table to become available at Hooters.

* You deem a twenty-seven-year-old virgin saving herself for marriage is a feasible feat.

* You dispense yourself across three chairs in front of a mechanical bull at a country bar. You lie unconscious until your friends forcibly remove you.

* In the car, after passing out across said chairs, you endeavor to climb out the moving car's window.

* You gratify your boyfriend with a lap dance. The chair breaks.

* You get halted at a checkpoint to the Hoover Dam at 5:30am complete with passed-out girl across back-seat, cowboy hat on head, and 6-pack of beer. All you are capable of: smiling.

* You distribute one dollar bills among your friends at the strip club like a mom doling out lunch money.

January 5th 11:58pm - Vegas. New Years. You Know You're Drunk When...

5 nights. 10 males. 3 females. Strippers. Limo. Beaker-Shots. 70's House. VEGAS.

You Know You're Drunk When...

* Every day is in the top fifteen days of your life.

* You deem it a good idea to drive from Vegas to the Hoover Dam with two passengers at 4am having been drinking all night. When the car returns alive with breathing passengers, your friends also deem it a good idea.

* Talking to a 65-year-old black man for two hours about Frank Sinatra are the best two hours of your life.

* A girl you met earlier in the night announces she's going to make you jealous and begins dancing with your friend. You slap your friend in the face twice and promptly get escorted out of the club, leaving the girl's attention solely on your friend.

* You don't remember if that hand-job on the dance floor was just a hand-job, or if it was sex.

* You black-out and regain consciousness to a stripper rubbing her ass in your face. You traveled to the strip club in a free limo you don't remember. This is the best day of your life.

* You consciously decide to purge the Vodka from your body by temporarily becoming bulimic so you can switch to Tequila.

* The decent-looking girl at the initiation of the night became a supermodel by the night's close.

* You tip a cop $5 to wheel your drunk supermodel from the bottom of the hotel to her room.

* The following day your supermodel appears to be Satan incarnate in pictures.

* You and two other girls get topless and through grasping and feeling, compare boob sizes with the stripper.

* Every time a stripper approaches you, you unhesitantly place a dollar bill between your breasts and lean back.

* In a club, your male friend tells you to bend over. You instantly obey instructions. Another male friend walks over and together they fashion an Eiffel Tower above you with their arms. You don't question until the next day when viewing the photo.

* You straddle your boyfriend's best friend and use him as a pole.

* You think a medical marijuana card could provide you entrance into a strip club as a valid form of identification.

* You pay $40 for a buffet when not hungry and then require a chaperone to the different stations.

* You can't find the exit to the casino so you cry. Then, lack of a ride = you curling up on a casino couch on New Year's Eve.

* You try to buy the blanket the stripper performed on.

January 4th 11:28pm - Las Vegas Round 2 Quotebook #3

J: "I'd go up to 50. There are hot 50-year-olds."
SP: "I feel like for anything we could do, we could find a cougar to do it too."
J: "There are some raunchy cougars."

N: "I don't want to eat that much if I'm going to be drinking. I don't want to be bloated all night."
A: "I've never heard a guy talk about being bloated before."

SP: "I almost puked in my mouth just thinking about tonight."

S: "When we first met her she was this sweet girl, and then she got drunk and started throwing wieners out left and right."

S: "When I met them I thought they were quasi-attractive. Then I got drunk and they were models and I was God.
Then before you know it one of the models was getting wheel-chaired up to her room because she was too drunk to walk."

KY (girlfriend straddling one of his friends and asked if okay with it): "Ya. I did that to her last night. But naked."

W (After drunkenly paying $40 for a buffet he wasn't hungry for): "Someone needs to escort me. I don't know where to get food."

W (making an awful face for the seventh time at the buffet): I keep eating horseradish thinking it's mashed potatoes."

W: "I think I just drooled on myself."
K: "You did."
W: "You saw that?"
K: "No, I heard it."
W: "I thought drool was like lightening. You can't hear it."

W: "I wish I was like Scott and could puke and start all over."

SP: "Scotty P. likes to shoot things and rope things in cowboy hats. Who doesn't like that?"

SP: "I was a little caught off guard by the $7 7-ounce water at the strip club."

W: "You can never get enough motorboats."

KY: "I'm going to get a tattoo. 'Only God can judge me' across my chest."

January 3rd 4:42pm - Las Vegas Round 2 Quotebook #2

SP: "Oh. WOW. My ass is sore."
K: "AND your inner thighs?"

SP (before the stripper arrived): "I need to change into jeans because I'm going to get a boner."

B: "I just told her she rubbed her titties all over me."

K: "Taylor Swift is really tall and really skinny."
B: "Ah, that's ok. I still think she's hot."
SP: "Ya, I mean, she's not short and plump or anything, but she's still hot."

B: "My knees hurt, and I can't figure out why."
SP: "My ass hurts, and I don't know why.
Well, and my inner thighs and my jaw."
B: "I got blacked-out drunk last night."
SP: "Me too!"

B: "Did you just soak your fork in saliva and dip it in my food?"

Vons Cashier Woman (to Scotty): "Don't you love your Blackberry?"
SP: "Yes. I write memos every time I have thoughts."
SP (later): "I need to stop thinking. I just need to get blacked out."

K: "My life hates me."
SP: "My body hates me, my life thinks I'm fantastic."

KY: "Last year I woke up in a twin bed with Steve and Mark."

J: "I had just met Mark and he asked to caress my hand so he could pretend it was Talia's."

J: "After Mark punched me I had to be held back by my friends. It was a white flash of rage."

A: "I was so disgusted by the cougar I wanted to punch her in the head."

January 2nd 5:35pm - Las Vegas Round 2 Quotebook #1

S: "She's crazy. She actually likes me. I was blacked out, known her two weeks, told her I loved her."

K: "I want to blink and be showered, drunk, and ready to go."
J: "No butter time than now."

S: "Is that our house with all the Christmas decorations?"
SP: "If it is they'll all be molested and destroyed."

B: "I love being human. Humans are the best species, they're so smart."

M: "Kyle, you look like a hot chick."

N: "Did you ever hear about the Vodka-soaked tampon method? Shove a Vodka tampon up your ass and you get drunk because it skips the large intestine digestive tract."
Girls: "You'd never be able to shove a soaked tampon anywhere."
E: "Well, weirder things have been shoved up asses before. Live gerbils feel good."
J: "You should soak a gerbil in Vodka and then shove it up your ass."

KY: "The first time I realized Scotty was crazy, we were camping and saw a real cougar across the river. Scott chased after it with a bat."

N: "Bobby-style is male rape."
E: "Bobby-style is bro rape."

S: "If we're riding mechanical bulls tonight, I need to change into tighter pants."