My cheapskate of an aunt is getting married to a doofus who doesn’t value the merits of an open bar. Please imagine inviting your friends and family to celebrate your trash wedding and then having the gall to make them pay. How am I supposed to get #belligerent at a distant relative’s function if I’m dropping $14 for a whiskey sour? I refuse to let the social constructs of marriage keep me from getting crunk. That’s not my idea of a good time. So instead of soberly watching my beloved aunt waltz into holy matrimony with some fuckboi, I smuggled in a handle of Skol in my vagina.
I know what you’re thinking. Wow, girl u so crazy. Yep, that’s right, I’m crazy like a fucking fox. A fox with a beverage up her urethra. It wasn’t even difficult. All it took was determination, a speculum and a separate handle of vodka that I downed to loosen up my lady parts. It didn’t even take long. Just an hour of reverse-kegels and that bad boy was wedged in their like a gestating fetus.
After ramming 1.75 liters of vodka into my vaginal canal, I had to clench my chocha for the wedding ceremony. Did you know that some ceremonies can last up to four hours? Did you know that crying during a wedding is not only common but encouraged and those around you will assume you’re crying because of joy? Did you know that after a sustained amount of pressure vaginal lips begin to queef uncontrollably? Well I learned all of those things. There I was at my dead mother’s sister’s wedding queefing and crying and crying and queefing. It was the grace of God that ushered me through that trying period into the La Quinta lobby bathroom where I proceeded to give birth to a discharge covered bottle of $13 grain alcohol. I lost some of my uterine lining in the process but it was all worth it to save money on getting fucked up. Call me the next Tucker Max because I am a living LEGEND.