Drunk Fest, Y'all.

2:05am: The night begins. These assholes (my mother and step dad) have just now begun to have a twinkle in their eye about dinner. They're having "dick taters" and at least one of them is really proud of this. I simply propelled myself out of bed and stole some mashed potatoes and corn before the real shit could start. I had to run away to my bedroom, because the dog tried to eat me. More later!

2:11am: I really like corn. Need beer soon. To get rid of my headache from earlier beer.

2:18am: They still haven't started eating and my mother had to yell at the dog to stop trying to chew me, after inserting myself into the living room experience.

2:21am: "I don't want to be in love prison. I'm done." ~the tv show my parents are watching, while I pour beer down my face.

2:28am: Fuck. They're watching Jeopardy, and I just got shooshed. Drunk fest is taking for freaking ever. *pouts*

2:52am: It gets worse. They're making me watch Dancing With The Stars. DVR is an evil invention. This is horrible, it's Halloween-themed. It's like a visible fart.

3:15am: I was lounging on my back, dejectedly eating more mashed potatoes, mouthing off about Lea Thompson's wooden performance, when my mother abruptly turned off the show and announced it was bed time.

While step dad was putting her to bed, I began to set up camp. He waltzed out, and saw me trying to plug in my laptop. His response? "Why don't you ass-up the whole living room? You wanna put the couch in the kitchen?"

I was moving a tiny chest of drawers two literal inches. At this juncture, he threw a cigarette at me and told me he was going to be back later. I tried to talk to him about how it was okay to tell me he needed to poop. He informed me that some things are sacred, and now I'm here, unsure how to work this remote. But at least beer.

3:25am: I put on Kimbra, then banged my glass of beer into my upper lip. Such an expert.

Anyway, let's talk about my levels of drunk as it relates to the dog. She's a yorkie/pomeranian mix shithead.

Sober - "Gah, your dog. She's barking, fuck her."
Slightly Buzzed - "Her ear is floppy. Fix your ear! You fuckstick dog. No, stop biting me, seriously."
More Buzzed - "I am going to buy a bigger dog to eat you, you cute little fuck."
Totes Buzzed - "Smell my foot. It smells like a donut, I'm serious. I smelt it myself. Unglazed. You like that foot."
Getting Drunk - "This dog is okay, I wish she'd stop eating me. Get the spray bottle so I can tell you a story about when I was 15."
Almost Drunk - "I might nap with this adorable rat in a dog costume. Stupid dog. We never cuddle anymore. Fuck you! All you want is treats. Oh come here, I can't stay mad at you. Ouch, you bit me."
Drunk - "I can't even. *giggle* This asshole is chewing me. Oh my god, she does have a cute face. We should throw shit at her. Then I'll tell you a story about when I was ... what was I saying?"
Drunk as Hell - "I am going to poop on her. I mean it. Oh, she's licking my arm. I love you stupid dog. You are the only one who ever understood me. She bit me, fuck her. Fuck everyone. Let's play Mad Libs. Yes, I can work a pen. Give me a pen." *flips pen across room* "Mad Libs is OVER."

3:44am - Sober step dad just taught me how to break into a car with a tennis ball. We are totes gonna try this later. "Send us some numbas so we can call from jail." he says. He's from Staten Island.

3:59am - There is no way I'm this funny. I've been riffing on the tv for a billion minutes with the sound off and he keeps giggling. He ate too many mashed potatoes. I am so glad I didn't eat any of the hot dogs, since he just told me they drove from Va with them, like, eight hundred weeks ago, and they weren't stored in a cooler. He might die tonight. Let's put that on the record. I did not kill this man.

4:50am: We just went on Omegle. I will post that conversation at a later date. Mostly because I saved the screen caps with names I'll never remember now.

4:55am: Step dad forces me to promise not to show him my dick. I can keep this promise, I promise.

addendum - he wants me to make it clear he has not and will not show me his dick. so it's not weird. fucking beer. "that doesn't sound right," he says, "that sounds weird."

Also, "why don't you stick a tape recorder up my ass, so you can get everything I say?"

Someone, explain to the young people what a tape recorder is.

4:59am: "God, I'm dying." he says.

I suspect hot dogs.

He just claimed to have used rancid milk in the mashed potatoes. I threatened to punch him in the tit.

5:29am: Step dad wants to talk about a dogs balls (I'm barely listening, he probably said it was time to take his medication) but I wanted to report my recent conversation, which was how if my ex-husband won the lottery, he'd be like, "you have a house bitch!" and if I won the lottery, I'd be all, "hey you have a house now and your dream has come true. no more work, all day boys", which ... is probably the wrongest way to explain what I mean. I'm just saying he loves raising the children, and would love to Mr. Mom them all day.

Someone needs to confiscate my beers.

Also, private note to my really awesome ex. "WHY THE FUCK IS VANESSA BAYER STILL ON SNL, SERIOUSLY. I CAN'T HANDLE IT. FUCK."

6:46am: it's harder to type. I am only here because step dad needed to pee. Oh fuck, shh, I think he's back. I still have too much beer yet to drink, tomorrow will be hard. hepl.

Wait, he is still peeing, let's talk about hiccups. They have something to do with once being fish. I read it on the internet, seriously, it's a real thing. Gills and stuff. I think step dad approaches. He finds me so amusing, but does not want me to tear the giant television off the wall. I will do my best, kittens.

Speaking of kittens, he likes kittens but not cats, oh fuck here he is.

7:07am: I just tried to say "bum's nutsack" to my step dad (about my right arm pit), but totally said, "bum's nut snack." which is a totally different conversation.

He's also informed me that it took ten minutes to type that. He also wants me to tell you that he no longer has a tape recorder up his ass, he has upgraded to the 90s and has a CD player up in theres.

7:18am: okay this happened. my right arm pit was so bad, I totally grabbed some like normal lotion and rubbed it into my pit. Step dad gagged. He said it was worse than the tiny dog licking in-between my mother's toes. Wait, I'm gagging now.

It's fucking light out. The sun demands the party end, FUCK THE SUN. I have a whole more beer to drink. "Let's get a Ouija board." step dad says. HELLS YEAH.

7:23am: I am demanding step dad smells my arm pit. I banged his face with my pit. He is totally disturbed, and wiped his face with a lotion-infused tissue, but agrees is smells better than before. He feels my use of men's deodorant does not do me any favors. I feel he is running out of cigarettes. Oh wait, it's on the kitchen table. Walk to Wawa averted.

7:47am: I can't even explain - step dad went to piss, yet keeps trying to sell me every single thing in the hallway. He keeps using the word "illustrious." Who on this planet, drunk or sober can not fall on the floor laughing as he tries to sell me two for one lotion - oh my fuck, he just walked out singing "smelly cat," with a trail of toilet paper out of his pants. I can't. With this.

addendum, I am dead serious. This all happened to me.

aLSO, what ARE THEY FEEDING YOU.

8:27am: I hate to report this, but my step dad dared me to fart. And I did. I promptly covered my head in the nearest blanket and died. Then, my mother woke up and threw the dog at us. 

New level of drunk. I love this stupid dog. We are one.

8:33am: step dad tries to convince me to walk through like, the McDonald's drive through and get extra hashbrowns. As I can barely type, I doubt this is happ'ning. I mean, I need to hug the dog. That's where I am, I love this stupid dog.

4:38am no wait, 8:38am - so the dog made this sound like she had a bell face and walked into a wok. A WOK of all things. Step dad suspected she had something in her mouth, but that little rat ran all ups under the couch. I can't fit there.

Step dad threatens to cook fish sticks. Also, he thinks I have more farts. I do not.

9:27am: the keyboard is fulla boogers and step dad wants to know if he can go to jail for this. To put it simply, some asshole called asking for my step dad. I refused to give his oh shit it's later.

9:53am: after harassing - thoroughly - the woman who dared to call while we were basking in 80s videos, step dad accidentally called a friend of mine and we left a criminal message for him. I love you, person, you know who you are. We are both so sorry.

The dog barks. Will Drunk Fest ever end? Who knows? The shadow? Oh, the squeaking of this toy, while we try to enjoy New Order.

9:58am: we have decided to get matching Members Only jackets.

10:19am: why doesn't McDougals deliver the hashbrows? Hungry. Hungry. "ya killin' me Smalls." I have no idea why he said that, but Smalls, ya killin' us.

10:38am: hiccups. abort. put rest of beer back. the hiccups have bested me. Drunk Fest OVER.