Everyone can spot a #7 bat shit crazy betch from a mile away. She’s blackout 24/7, probably starts brawls in public, and comes up with evil schemes that rival those of Regina George.
She may be entertaining AF, but you don’t want to be her. After the age of 25 people might start suggesting mental institutions and that’s just not something you put on your résumé.
On the other side of the betch spectrum is the #48 Dud AKA the most boring betch you will ever meet- half the time she’s not even considered a betch because all she does for amonth straight is talk about how much work she has and how excited she is to stay in. You honestly can’t tell me Netflix is more enticing than the hot bro at the bar who’s been eyeing you for a while. If you can then you’re probs a grandma and should invest in some crochet needles.
If you’re going through your friend group right now and can’t figure out who the Dud is then it’s you and you probably need some time to recover from that crippling realization.
This is exactly why it’s good to be a little crazy. The word “crazy” gets a bad rep and betch haters and fucked over bros always use it as their go-to for trying to insult a betch. TBH, you’re doing us a favor if you call us crazy because that means we gave you a reason to talk about us and that means we’re doing something right.
Those who call us crazy are those who want to be us. You can practically smell the envy seeping out a jealous girl’s oversized pores when she says some shit like, “Oh yeah, Alexa is crazy – you need to be careful.” The only thing anyone needs to be careful of is Alexa stealing your bro because she’s ten times hotter than you and actually has a personality.
Crazy betches fall in between the bat shit crazy betches and the Duds. They’re who you want to be and if you can’t be them (either because you’re certifiably insane or you’re more boring than a senior citizen) then you go around calling them crazy as if it’s a bad thing.
If you’ve been called crazy at least once in your life – don’t feel bad about yourself. As long as you don’t start tweeting some shit about your dad molesting you, you’re as betchy as they come. You speak your mind (tell that girl her dress is fug), assert your dominance (don’t let people cut you in line at the bar – sooo rude), and do whatever the fuck you want without worrying what others say (take another shot of tequila and dance on a table).
Go ahead and call me crazy – I’d still rather be a crazy me than a fugly you.