Happy Passover, Bitchez

(via Someecards)

St. Patrick's Day: Stay Home or Go Balls Out?

Usually, I look for any excuse to drink.  Weekends, weeknights, good days, bad days, football games, baby showers, funerals—you know how I roll.  

But there's something about St. Patrick's Day that categorically terrifies me.  The crowds! The brawls! The leprechauns!

I just want to get through today without seeing or smelling vomit anywhere.  If I do that, I win.

So, are you going out?  Or are you staying in to avoid the puke-covered ruckus? 

Tour of Duty

(ed note: BALLERS go out every Sunday and get drunk at brunch, so this should have been posted yesterday. Blame the fucking mimosas, its not my fault, people).

Day three of the ongoing Xmas revels.

Having finished the nuclear option (day one), we began another breeder mainstay: the grandparents tour of duty.

Think Groundhog Day (or in this case, Christmas morning), repeated daily for many days, punctuated by disappointment and tears, calls for quiet contests, and copious carsickness. Living the life.

Fucking A.

Just so you can share in the joy, I’ve now listened to John Denver’s timeless classic 40 fucking times today--and we're only halfway through.

So, I repeat: I’m doing your heavy lifting, BALLERS. All for you, man (and for the continuation of the species).

So, don’t give me and my triple-wide bugaboo shit next time I mow you down on 7th.

Merry Fucking Christmas, BALLERS!

You people suck. Literally (or so I hear), and figuratively.

While you're busy BALLING and beauty sleeping, we parents are suffering.

4 fucking 36 am: an ungodly hour that will live on in infamy in my house, for this is the exact time my bleary eyes registered as my rug rat woke us up with a joyous shout of “Merry Christmas” and demanded that we come open presents immediately.

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Who Gives A Shit: What Are You Doing For New Years?

I'm lazy....and looking for ideas.