Dear Betch, Every betch knows the importance of a good rage. Being a betch, I always do shots and I don't use chasers (extra cals? I'll pass). Anyway, recently my friends have been telling me it's like not normal to blackout every time you drink. So the other night I had one too many shots and took a bong to the face and lets just say I was way past my limits and just couldn't function. I mean I went a little too hard that night but since when is it wrong to drink until you can't stand? I don't think I have a drinking problem, I mean it's not a problem until your like old and washed up trying to relive your betchy glory days right? Sincerely, Blackout Betch
Dear Courtney Love,
I’m literally wasted just from reading your email. Since when is it wrong to drink until you can’t stand? When you learn them at the age of 12, that’s when. Betches know their limits and have known them since the 6th grade. Yes, everyone blacks out. Everyone gets a little too fucked up sometimes. Everyone takes bongs to the face. Everyone fucks their best friend’s brother in the closet at her graduation party.
Here’s your issue: your friends told you that you have a problem. The minute your friends, who are getting equally as fucked up with you, tell you that you’re an alcoholic, you’re a fucking alcoholic. Chill. Out. Pace yourself. Take a moment to do something you should’ve done in elementary school and learn your limits. Contrary to our bible, the limit does exist. Once you find it, your friends will lay off and you can stop being the naked drunk bitch singing “I Love Rock n’ Roll” alone on the back porch.
But if your friends are like complete flosers and their idea of a pregame is wine and cheese, tell them to stfu.
So there is this pro who I have been talking to for awhile. He does the routine stuff: takes me out to dinner, to get drinks, shopping, etc. We were getting along really well tonight: took me out dinner, bought me multiple vodka sodas, and then we smoked a blunt. As we were back at his house I thought to myself maybe it's time to put out. After he was done pleasuring me I unbuttoned his pants and was astonished to see the miniscule size of his penis. You almost need a fucking magnifying glass. I immediately yawned and pretended I was tired and he took me home. The catch is he is super fucking rich and probs worth at least 50 million. Wtf am I to do? Should I date this guy and get so high and drunk when he asks me to have sex that I don't care? Or move on? I mean the guy totally justified my Loubs and Chanel obsession and when I wanted a new Chanel he said “another one would never hurt”. What's a betch to do?
Unfortunately There is Always a Catch
Dear Unfortunately There is Always a Catch,
One would be surprised at the amount of attractive men with small penises in this world. Why is it always the long-haired skinny boys who chill in garage bands who have the hidden elephant trunks? Why are black male babies born with unhidden elephants trunks? The world may never know. Anyway, two possible scenarios could be happening here:
1. Was it abnormally cold in his apartment? Like I’m talking, were you drunk enough to a point where he could've had a pet snow lion roaming about and you didn’t notice? If so, go on one more date and give him another chance. I mean, everyone deserves a second, sometimes 22nd, chance. Plus, going into a date knowing the guy could potentially have a small penis changes EVERYTHING. It forces you to critique him on a deeper level. It forces you to notice the little things like his personality, or his unkempt nose hairs. If you still like him after this date, then you should stop being such a shallow, gold-digging bitch and fuck the guy already because you never know, he might have moves to compensate for his small stature.
2. If you have no doubt in your mind that it indeed was not abnormally cold in his apartment and his penis really is the itsy bitsy spider, you need to dump him. I mean, what betch in her right mind enjoys sex with an infant’s pinky? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for ‘accepting people for who they are’ and shit, but from your email it seems the only reason you’re debating whether to stay with him or not is because he buys you shit, not because you truly enjoy his company and are disappointed with this one single downfall. Which, now that I think about it, kind of makes you a prostitute. A very, very prude prostitute. Whatever.
It’s up to you to decide whether or not it’s appropriate to accept his penis probz.