NOW there are two victims. Her child (assuming it was not given up for adoption to an amazing home where it never has to know its birth story) is only a victim because it's mother was forced to go through this.

AUGH. I MISS YOU.

Heard.

Loving the number of old school jezzies showing up for this.

Old school lesbian shitasses for the win. Brain tumors= bad shit.

Pffft. Angelina Jolie 1996. Hello, confused teenage peg.

Bike commuter + Texas summer = only the law keeps clothes on me.

F’in A. He just keeps getting hotter and hotter and hotter..

I used to have this argument with me ex about so many Scorsese flicks. We both loved them, loved the anti-heroes, but he absolutely DID NOT see the cautionary tale aspect. The protagonists ALL fly high before a catastrophic downfall. His is a truly stunning brand of reasoning. Good dude- just lives in his own special…

I was on my way to make the same quote, but there you were at the top of the heap. I suspect that as I scroll down I will find more great minds.

Hell yes. I love all of my mistake drinks to good customers. If I don’t have one at the bar, I always give my servers the option to do so with one of theirs.

Preach. Good ol’ boys are my bread and butter. I can charm the money right out of their wallets, bc everyone is y’all, darlin’ sweetheart, etc.

Also, not to pick your bartenders’ pockets or anything, but if you ever need any tips on streamlined martini making at home, hit me up. You’ve earned it.

Bless you so hard. It’s amazing how many people forget this and are happy to treat their severs as servants.

I always keep an eye on your comments for the Austin connection, and this one has me greatly amused/ surprised. As a looong time Austin service veteran, I know more ex-trudy’s employees than any other ex variety. They have a policy for motherfucking everything, but i’ve seen said policies used for evil far more often…

This has long been one of my greatest fears- especially when I worked at a neighborhood pub less than a mile from home. And coincidentally, it was a guy who broke into my house to sleep it off on my futon that led to me owning a shotgun.

I fucking love you. I reference this ALL. THE. TIME. no one ever gets it.

I used to save up empty beer bottles for when I would inevitably need to go out back and pitch them against the back of the building. I hated that bar.

I used to work an absolutely MISERABLE job as a grill cook where I also had to run the food. The bartenders would ask patrons if they would be sitting inside or outside, and I would proceed to the section they had given and call their names. “Call” might be too kind a term. I screamed their names. People at the…

I still prefer Lindy West’s description of Mr. Thicke: “animate pile of leather necklaces”