Your jewelry is tacky.
It’s tacky as fuck. Buy some, you dirty hooker.
I’m curious, do you work on your blog at work? If so you are mighty sneaky and doing it right.
Of course I do. Never on a company computer, though. That’s the quickest way to fuck yourself.
Is it possible to sneak into Coachella?
Sure it is. There are wall climbers ever year. Hell, I’ve seen dudes crash backstage with nothing but a walkie-talkie and an attitude. Watch out, though. You’re not Fletch, and they booby-trap the fences for dumb shits like you.
What happened to the bitch that stole from you? Did you destroy her yet?
If I quote you in my high school graduation speech, do you care if you’re cited? If so, would you prefer to be referred to as Coke Talk, Dear Coke Talk, or Coquette?
Whichever you prefer. Post your speech online and send me a link.
Quarter life crisis. About to graduate do I:
1. Peace Corp/Teach for America/something similar it up? 2. Stay on the corporate track? 3. Move west and work at a coffee shop? 4. Move to another country? …Seriously.
No one gives a shit… Seriously.
In your own words, what is the study of psychology?
Write your own damn intro to psych midterm paper.
What does it mean if I’m 21 and I’m still not ready for sex?
It means absolutely nothing, except that now you can worry needlessly about your virginity while enjoying a cocktail.
I’m falling for the guy I live with. The last girl who lived in this house dated him, and it didn’t end well. How do I drop the hint that I could work?
I dunno, how do I drop the hint that you’ll be on Craigslist by summer?
Your comments to peoples questions are getting bitchier. I’m loving it.
I’m on the rag. How cliché.