>>> The Rollercoaster of Drama
By staff writer Simonne Cullen
October 15, 2006

Imagine if we were all brutally honest with our friends and family. We’d probably have a lot of lonely nights. But seriously, I’m talking about never sugar coating anything again. Just pure genuine truth coming out of your mouth. What would you say?

(And I’m not talking about drunken honesty where you start slurring to your girlfriend, “Let me tell you something. It’s not my fault it only takes 8 minutes, because it’s a small miracle I get any at all. And I find it insulting that you think I believe you’ve had your period for the past three weeks now.”)

If you were brutally honest… to your girlfriend:

“Stop calling me when I’m with the guys, then denying me sex later because I didn’t answer your five phone calls. I don’t like leaving the car to hear you ask what time I’m coming home because by the time I hear what one of your dumb friends did, my seat at the bar is taken and I have to watch the rest of the game standing. I’ll give you your eight minutes when I get them to you.”

“I love you enough to pretend to like it, but I’m only letting you pound me for the cuddling.”

“Don’t tell your friends about the nice romantic things I do for you. It only takes one of them to divulge my poetic skills during the awkward after-sex silence with one of my buddies before suddenly everyone’s having a good laugh and I’m the new pussy getting smacked in the ass with a wet towel in the locker room.”

“There is no reason to celebrate being together for two weeks. Especially since one week was midterms and I saw you once—at the library—and waved to you. That kind of new 14-day relationship is nothing to celebrate. I don’t take my buddies out on the same day every week since we met each other—and Wasted Wednesday is a sacred day to be observed by all. So NO, it doesn’t count.”

If you were brutally honest… to your boyfriend:

“I’m faking it. Seriously. I love you enough to pretend to like it, but I’m only letting you pound me for the cuddling.”

“I’d be more open to the threesome idea if you’d stop bringing it up at inappropriate times. And stop asking me which one of my sorority sisters I would invite to it during dinner at spring formal. I’m tired of trying to convince everyone you’d never act that way sober.”

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If you were brutally honest… to your parents:

“I need money. It will be used for fast food, beer, and concert tickets. Oh, and the guys are thinking about hitting up the local strip club, so if you could throw in an extra twenty of your hard earned money to put in the g-string of Bonnie Bun-Buns I’d really appreciate it.”

“I am spending Thanksgiving at school because I’d rather eat a turkey burger at Denny’s with friends than endure the traditional Friday morning shopping extravaganza with you, Aunt Silvia, and Grandma Marie, who you only bring along because her portable respirator allows you to park in the handicapped spot.”

“No, I can’t teach either of you how to use MySpace. You’re smart enough to find photos posted of me in my Strawberry Slutcake Halloween costumes in several questionable positions that have already ruined any potential political career. And frankly, I’d feel better leaving you with some hope.”

“Dad, it’s best if you just let by gones be by gones—your hair is never coming back. I’d advise you to find a medium between a toupee and plugs because that comb over has got to go. I’ve gotten my friends drunk and shaved off their eyebrows, don’t think I won’t do it to you and shave your entire head. Mom, of course, will deny everything, but she’ll be right there holding your head the entire time.”

If you were brutally honest… to your classmates:

“If you’re pre-law or poli-sci, stop quoting obscure politicians and historians to try and make yourself look smarter. Our professor may not read Newsweek, but I do, and you got that quote from the quip page next to the Jackass Bush caricature.”

“Dude, it’s not a multiple choice test. Please stop trying to copy my essay. It’s already 75% bullshit, and I’m not wasting my good 25% on your wandering eyes. If you were hot and a chick it’d be different, but you’re not, so invent your own written diarrhea for the professor to grade.”

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“Don’t encourage the guy who farts in the lecture hall. It’s only encouraging. It’s also not funny when you sit downwind of him, and can smell the garlic hotdogs he ate for lunch.”

If you were brutally honest… to your crush:

“Why can’t you just like me? Seriously. What more do I have to do for you to notice me? I’ve tried playing hard to get, made eye contact with you at the game, chatted you up at parties… what else is there? Pouring imported beer down my white shirt and asking you to suck what you can before it dries?”

“How can you seriously like the girl who slept with your roommate and your best friend in the same week, but you can’t like me? Who’s the one with low self-esteem? Because it’s supposed to be me, not you.”

“I don’t like you when you’re hanging out with your girlfriends because you turn into a different person. You go from cool, relaxed, fun girl to ‘OMIGOD IS MY ASS FAT? LET’S HAVE MARGARITA GIRL’S NIGHT WHERE WE WATCH CASTRATING MEN MOVIES!’ in 2.1 seconds. And your voice gets higher when you’re around them too, which just annoys the living shit out of me… but I really like you and am willing to stick around for a while and hope you grow out of this valley retard girl phase.”

Hollywoodisms

My roommate Leslie is brutally honest. One day Ken Doll came in looking to bum a stamp off me. I handed it to him and he left. As soon as he was out of earshot Les says, “Why didn’t he talk to me? I’m prettier.” Thanks Les. Do me a favor and sleep with one eye open.

No one is honest in Hollywood. Everyone pretends to like everyone because they have money or connections. Glitter was a terrible movie, but you bet at the premiere everyone was telling Mariah what a great job she did walking in heels and an evening gown through the wilderness in that final scene. If someone had just been brutally honest during pre-production we could have saved Da’Brat’s career.