Here lies Smug Singleton: She died of cramps, which is totally a thing that can happen.
Don’t send flowers, flowers are bullshit. You spend that money on fried cheese and whiskey. That’s what she would’ve wanted. (YES, fried cheese and whiskey at 10 a.m. Christ almighty, do you want to honor her or not?)
Rest in petty, Smug.
Emailing a friend who’s been to this bar with me a bunch of times…
“This guy’s OkCupid profile says he owns a ‘craft beer and whiskey bar in Philadelphia.’
[screenshot pic of guy wearing bar-branded t-shirt]
“DUDE. Will fuck for whiskey and nachos!”
I am obsessed with this song — it’s my new Sassy Strut/car singing/Pull Yourself Together song. In addition:
a) Miranda Lambert looks better unkempt than I do when I bring my capital-A game. I need more eye makeup, like, immediately.
b) I’m pretty sure I’ve HAD this conversation with my mother.
c) You can write it off because it’s country music, but it’s a bawdy, curvy, big-haired blonde sangin’ ’bout drankin’, and that there is some of my favorite comfort music. (For obvious reasons.) This song is the twangy, guitar-driven equivalent of “Conceal, don’t feel” — Miranda Lambert is basically Elsa, and you KNOW that movie would’ve been way better with whiskey and pills.
Whiskey doesn’t ask silly questions.
Whiskey understands.
Smug Singleton 