20. Your ID says so. Check your ID, if it says you were born before 1994 — YOU’RE IN YOUR 20s
19. It’s on your ID. Check your ID twice. This is the most sure way to find out if you’re in your twenties. Again, if it says you were born before ‘94. Congrats, you’re older than 20.
18. Your ID has the answer. To be really sure, check your ID for the third time. Those dates can get tricky. If you were born before ‘94 then you’re indeed, in your 20s.
17. Four times is definitely better than THREE. NOTE: YOUR ID IS THE BEST WAY TO KNOW HOW OLD YOU ARE
16. Your ID knows your age. CHECK YOUR ID FIVE TIMES! WHY NOT!? YOU’VE ALREADY CHECKED IT FOUR TIMES! why not be super super sure if you’re in your twenties.
15. UHm. Okay. Let me ask you — Are you born before ‘94? THEN YOU’RE IN YOUR TWENTIES. crazy times.
14. LOOK AT THE D.O.B. on your ID! That should tell you if you’re in your twenties!
13. Your ID can tell you if you’re in your twenties
12. Your ID is a good way to find out if you’re in your twenties.
11. HELLO!? Your state or drivers identification is the best way to find out if you’re in your twenties.
10. Are you even listening to me?! TAKE OUT YOUR I.D. AND LOOK AT THE DATE OF BIRTH. IF IT SAYS THE NUMBER 1994 or LOWER! YOU’RE NO LONGER IN YOUR BARELY LEGAL PRIME!
9. Please don’t be offended when I ask, are you mentally slow?! IF YOU TAKE OUT YOUR ID IT WILL TELL YOU IF YOU’RE OVER 20!
8. GOD EVEN PAULA ABDUL KNOWS HOW TO DO THIS AND SHE ONCE ATE HER OWN HAND BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT IT WAS PART OF A CLUB SANDWICH. Take out your ID, and if it will tell you if you’re in your twenties.
7. Ugh. forget it. you know what?
6. If you don’t know by now how to tell if you’re in your twenties
5. Then you don’t deserve to know your age
4. Fuck you, dumbass
3. I’m not helping you anymore. Go rot somewhere you bag.
2. I hope you get hepatitis
1. Checking your ID is the best way to find out if you’re in your twenties.
Hey Guys! If you’re in the New York area — my web series, Normal Gays, will be screened by Channel 101 at UCB EAST tonight July 22 @ 8 PM. Come by! Yay!
I’m just going to leave this here. You’re welcome.
As most of you all know, I’m a fucking social butterfly. I can’t go a weekend without being bombarded with invitations and texts to the hottest parties in New York Fucking City. Bitches be all like, bitch get over to this amazing party, we need you. And I’m all like, bitch get off mah dick.
I may not be a scientist or contribute anything of value to society, but I do know how to
suck good dick party. The only tangible way to describe my social interaction with other humans is if you take like a firework and put it into Steve Job’s career and set it off from Beyonce’s ass as Whitney Houston sings the final high note from the National Anthem. I’m incredible.
Being that I’m more amazing than all of you, out of the niceness of my perfectly shaped heart, I’ve decided to give you basic minions some tips for the simple parties you may be forwarded an e-vite to.
The host of this party has decided to invite you for SOME REASON. I don’t care if it’s a case of beer, sun chips or some mixers, don’t show up without something in your hands. If you’re on a budget, a cheap solution is to bring ice (frozen water — not the really fun pill I took in Phoenix three years ago). Ice is like two dollars by the pack and there’s ALWAYS a need for it. Ice is to a party as doctors is to the world. This rule, however, is exempt from all MEG GRIFFINS of the world. If you’re a klutsy mess who somehow always has one of her labia flaps hanging out as you tell a story about how you tripped up the stairs because you decided to wear gladiator sandals — you don’t need to bring anything but yourselves, you’re hilarious. People without personalities, bring cocaine.
Don’t Bogart The Food
I don’t fucking care if you’re skinnier than my Asian penis, keep your hands away from the finger sandwiches. You should’ve eaten beforehand in the privacy of the extremely well-lit deli. Nothing brings a party down like someone huffing and puffing through the door and stating that they’re hungry and that they can’t drink without eating first. That isn’t our problem, and we’re not in junior high. If you’re really crunched on time, be a grown up, grab a stack of Pringles from the gas station and shot gun them in the elevator on the way up. That being said, if there are chips laying about, you are okay to snack on them given that they’re lightly salted and not fucking barbecue. Again, this rule is exempt for all of the MEG GRIFFINS of the world — you can eat whatever you want. You’re perfect.
Don’t Start A Story Without Knowing How It Ends
Unlike Tori Spelling, there needs to be a point. Nothing is worse at a party than someone telling a story with a mildly interesting conflict but fails to resolve it and fades out like an 80s song. YOU HAVE OUR ATTENTION AND WITH THAT COMES RESPONSIBILITY, DICK. If your story doesn’t have a point then just lie. Everyone will know that you’re lying, but will appreciate that you respect them enough to conjure up some bullshit about how you then tested positive for gonorrhea. If you’re uncomfortable with lying, then don’t tell your pointless story — just listen to MEG GRIFFIN’S story. She always tests positive for gonorrhea.
Don’t Be The First To Get Drunk
Being at a party is like being in a three legged race. And like any three legged race, you don’t fucking run ahead. Don’t quietly do shots in the corner while everyone is recounting stories from their week. Because what happens? You blackout and start crying about how the deli was out of Pringles. Then everyone rolls their eyes trying to tell you to go home or to bed or to hell, and you say ‘NO WAY, JOSE’ and take your top off and show everyone your oversized nipples. Sit down and let Meg Griffin take the wheel. She’s better than Jesus.
I sent this to my dad for Father’s Day. Too far?