I’ve gotta stop drinking around men

Seriously.

It’s really startin’ to get fucked. I know my stepmom’s a bitch, but that’s no excuse, really. I’m sure there’s plenty of girls who’ve had to clean the house. I guess that’s what I get for downin’ a fifth of Grey Goose before I got down to cleanin’ shit up. I’ve blacked out before, but that was a real dick move on her part to get the handyman to drag my passed-out ass into the fuckin’ woods. I was so paranoid that he was gonna try to kill me. When I came to I just started runnin’ like they lit a fire under my ass. I heard gunshots and a half an oink in the distance…

I dunno what was in that bottle, but the next thing I know I’m surrounded by a bunch of woodland critters that might as well have been talkin’ to me. You know, rabbits making gestures and shit. At this point, I was too crunked to care, and I followed them deeper into the forest. Damn if I didn’t come across a little shack. The hole in my lip was gettin’ dry, so I grabbed my flask before I crashed on the floor.

Next thing I know: “Hi, ho!” Seven little men. SEVEN! You ever been septuple-teamed? I gotta stop drinking around men. Seriously. It gets worse—they make me cook them dinner. Shit. I should have stayed home. At least stepmom doesn’t lock the liquor cabinet.

It went on that way for a like a month. I wouldn’t mind so much if the little one didn’t keep sneezing on me. Motherfucker must have a cold, and I don’t want it. Anyway, it went on with the cooking until the day that old bitch showed up sellin’ fruit. I just figured she was Mexican and bought some on the cheap. I decided to make some Sangria, and it was STRONG. One swig and…

Back to the floor. Long story short, I wake up in a fuckin’ glass box with some blond dude I don’t recognize trying to stick his tongue down my throat. Eew, yo.

I’ve gotta stop drinking around men.

Seriously. I’m done with the hooch. Yeah. No more booze for me. Damn skippy. I’m switching to pure flake cocaine, baby. That’s right.

Who’s Snow White now, bitchez?