Happy Mon-Mon recent Red Lobster converts and bloated hungover douchewaddles who just lurrrrrv them some football (jk football’s fine, I guess).
The not-so-reasonable-adult-like-person move of capping off (what I believed to be) the tail end of a cold/flu virus with some Friday night shenanigans has literally left me without a voice. And not literal in the casual/internet-writey kind of way, but literal in the actually literally literal sense of the word. So, my day thus far has been comprised of numerous failed attempts at leaving the house, two episodes of MTV True Life (I Started My Own Religion and I Had My Cousin’s Baby, in case you were wondering) a good, healthy-bordering-on-excessive dose of codeine cough syrup. I wanted to say I was voluntarily/rebelliously sipping on lean all day long, but then I felt like a fraud and decided against it. ALL THIS TO SAY that I’m a little bit off my fucking rocker on this fine day, so Goss should be EXTRA GOOD. That, or the worst thing ever.
We are now officially allowed to shout about our love for Red Lobster from the nearest rooftop because Beyonce (kinda) said so.
Someone named Katie May died of a stroke, maybe? Or it might have been a fall? Or someone knocked her off her “Queen of Snapchat” throne and then she fell and then she had a stroke?
When you see a headline about Steven Spielberg’s real estate regrets on TMZ, you know it’s a slow news day.
I’m bored. Are you bored? Because I am.
No matter how much you hate the Kardashians, you should probably watch last week’s Kocktails With Khloe, featuring RuPaul and Puff Daddy. Whoa, I just spaced out so hard and psychedelically at the name “Puff Daddy”.
Does anyone even bother hating the Kardashians anymore? It just seems so passé.
Who is Stacey Dash again? Oh right, she works at a gentleman’s club in Los Angeles. Now I remember.
K my brain just expired. Here’s hoping for better stories next week/a big ol’ wardrobe malfunction at the Super Bowl (I’m talking on the field, obv).