A Letter To All Of Us On New Year’s Eve

Hey betch,

Happy almost New Year! If you can still read this that means you havent passed out hitherto and are doing better than a lot of others. We honour you for that. But we also need to talk about a few others thoughts before your nighttime can continue. Its for your own good.

First of all, stop everything youre doing and satisfy delete your entire Snap story. Theres one cute selfie and the rest is 125 seconds of screaming and blurred photos of you looking like a saunter mugshot. Once youve said and done, delete the textbook dialogue youre currently having with your fuckboy and stop trying to find him before midnight. Hes in Vermont with his family and he told you that five times already.

Once thats terminated, fix your fucking whisker, which is somehow covered in sheen, and your eye makeup. Find a reflect and a person who is slightly more sober than you to be your guidebook. There are still pics being taken and youre about to become part of someones NYE insta because they search so good for purposes of comparison. You likewise need to open your eyes more and chug a glass of water. The two bottles of champagne youre double fisting right now do not count as hydration.

Next, find your right end and pull your dress around because its mostly on backwards at this spot. Sorry, we shouldve mentioned that persona earlier but theres a lot of shit going on right now and we didnt know where to start. After youve put your shoes on you need to go recovery your best friend in the angle who is about to make out with a fugly stranger. The two of you then need to go to the lavatory to find your other friend who is crying about her ex and telling the story of their relationship to unassuming daughters in the shower line.

Now you need to PUT DOWN THAT SHOT. Youre not ready for it. You can maybe have a liquor at midnight but youre on the cliff of a full-blown blackout as it is and you at least is a requirement to make it to the ten second countdown. We know that you simply took one regardles, and will regret that tomorrow morning. Too your dress is already fucking crazy again. Why did you exactly start clambering on top of the DJ booth and who gave you that dreadful silk hat?

Ok you know what, fuck it. Clearly youre not going to listen and we really shouldve known that from the beginning. Its almost midnight and the likelihoods that youre still speaking this letter are zero percent. At least we can say we tried.

We genuinely need to get our shit together in 2017,
The Betches

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