I’m now picturing your Grandmother dining at Hooters, and questioning waitresses about their favorite owls.

After we're done we should get some ring pops and go find a rave.

I assume it’s “what’s a viable alternative to using the Port Authority restrooms?”.

The year 2000 phoned, it wants its hair back.

BRB printing that on a t shirt.

I waitressed food service for about half a minute, before switching to strictly cocktails. Once, I had a table of four church ladies who complained about everything from the temperature of their soup to the texture of their rice pudding (‘if this was properly made rice pudding, there would not be a skin on it, dear’).

That's the nicest offer I've gotten all day!

Guess what's in the blue cheese sauce?

What is interweb? How is babby formed?

Let's start a GoFundMe for a can of gas and a book of fucking matches.

I dated a guy with a clinically diagnosed micropenis. It was no big deal, really (no pun intended).

If only I had more to give...

Yes you imperialistic dog! Get out there and minicab your ass across town until you track down that kid’s parents, then humbly prostrate yourself and beg for permission to gift them with your granola bar (hint: the one actually being gifted is you).

“Are you really that much more important that you deserve that honor?”

Was she kissing him, or was she actually trying to suck his youthful life force out of his body?

"I'm so unique and bohemian!"

Uh, excuse me. #notallagingdominatrixes

Amen. They'd be lucky I didn't adhesive tape a used pad onto their forehead if they asked me that.

The “sensible person” would get the fuck over it and grow up. Women bleed, oh woe is me.