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January 19, 2007

Keeps Happening...

Happy Birthday Coral!

And this is the part where we recount, for the 79,000th time all the ridiculous shit we've ever said or done back in the "heyday" that only we think is hilarious.

Want some cookies?

Gorgeous cufflaaaaanks.

Oh God, what an ugly baby!

Ivan, Ivan, Ivan?

Is that a dick drawn on that headboard?

One thousand WHOLE dollars (each) -- ours, all ours!

Red, chellow, blue, green -- what is your favorite color today?

Cool fucking rock at my windshield, Kirby.

That fool left his block heel Skechers and you threw them in the utility closet.

Speaking of utility closet. Yes, we just threw that coat in the real live garbage Dumpster.

Raw ankle. Said while watching an Al B Sure video.

Yup, horse tranquilizers. Black Iago but he's a banker on the side.

I don't care what you say, that Brasil skull Miss Sixty dress is cute. Fuck you and fuck Tim.

YOU left that painting on the plane.

First class all the way back to Coach with the Mormon missionary. He. Won't. Stop. Talking.

Under the Tuck-son Sun.

So, like, what's it like being the ugly twin?

Dude, I don't think you can say that.

"Excuse me, don't you see there's a whole person standing here!"

She hates being picked up. No, for real.

Shortest man alive. He loves you girl. You're the best thing that's ever happened to him. He can't believe this shit!

Cool leg.

Dude, there's Gwyneth Paltrow. CRASH.

Golden cherub.

White.

Chimichangas and bunny slippers. We could have totally had Justin Timberlake's number, but noooo. Cool producer.

All choking stories. Especially, the fireball one.

Number 9 with orange drink.

Going to get sushi. Never came back to the set.

"You're blonde. Go get us in."

And then she grinded her butt all in the robe and we were like...

Would you go out with him? How about ONE MILLION DOLLARS? Fine, yes.

Come on in, New York. Come on.

The Civic.

Mexican trinkets.

Claimjumper Wednesdays.

You just ate a Red Vine! I heard you! (During the Master Cleanse.)

CODE RED. Uh yeah, I'm walking home from the grocery store right now.

She wore brown pumps to the pool. Chime in -- with tassels.

The mother-daughter cleaning team. Bitch left a shirt in the half-made bed. You have to move a couch to clean under it.

Hey baby, I see you LOOK at me.

Why, Melissa, why don't they get it?

Why, Coral, why? Is it that only we think it's funny?

Plucking crunk fruit from a crunk tree.

That's fucking David fucking Schwimmer, asshole.

I know better than to let them go.

I won't be a-fraid to cry.

Even Ron Jeremy said no.

Yes, he ran down the street with the key. RAN. He was running? Run-ning, bitch.

Juve the Great.

THE shower. Uh, that's a fucking billboard. WOW. You're stupid. I kept telling you. But noooo.

All the outfits. All the earrings. The Brasil pants.

We can't have this conversation again.

Ovah and out.

P.S. You're gor-gee-ose.

Posted by melissah at January 19, 2007 08:18 AM