Like The Gentle Bleeting of a Billy Goat

My Head, She Pounds.
Somebody turn off the lights and pass me that book. I'll rip the pages out to cover my body for warmth.
Drunk Girls Dancing All Around.
Richards and Co. played last night at the perennial favorite breast cancer benefit: Booze for Boobs. Two points for every woman there for having both booze and boobs. Some of them having too much of one or the other. I'm looking at you, Dooney and Bourke. You almost suffocated my boyfriend when you leaned over to ask for a cigarette. (No. He doesn't smoke. Gross. P.S. We need to talk about who, of the two of us here, needs a push-up bra. Ok. Agree to disagree.)
Maybe It's Something You Ate.
Blllleeeeeeeeerggggggggh. I guess that beer could have done it, but I prefer to demonize the peanut butter. Seriously. You're not hungover. It's salmonella. I will be sending in my lid for a full refund. Keeping you posted...
Cotton Mouth Kisses,
Sri