Just got our invites to Monte’s first bunga-bunga party.
Whenever we ran out of coke and everyone would get all cranky, the mellowest dude who never complained was always our homie, Andy Rooney.
We should get the Koch Brothers to host the Illuminati meetings every month, this champagne is amazing.
Perry was like, “Where’s your costume, Herman?” and Cain was like, “I came as your hunting camp, Rick.”
Our pop-up cigar bar at Occupy Wall Street is not going over as well as we’d hoped.
The sushi in the VIP section of Occupy Wall Street is actually pretty good.
It’s been a long time since we’ve met an azn chick who spells it the long way.
Doing crunches with Matt Damon.
We’ll still be the aristocracy after we use this time machine, right?
Got to say that Shaggy 2 Dope’s Faygo Grand Cru is way better than the Baron de Rothschild’s Big Red flavor.
Naomi Watts won’t shut up about Club Silencio.
All right, whoever told Taylor Swift about steampunk is in big trouble.
This Bichon Frise has lost it’s raison d’être.
Fine then, we’re gonna build a truffle pig park, and you can’t bring your dogs there.
The fuck are we going to do with all this diamond crusted tilapia?
Can someone who is not so coked up tell us how we know all the answers on Jeopardy before they even ask the questions?
We defy our replacement commentators at The Special X Games to describe these athletes’ halfpipe acrobatics as anything short of “retarded.”
And then, all of a sudden, the whole Comic-Con turned against our Amy Winehouse cosplay.
Bros before OPEC.
Need new underpants immediately. Feeling less than invincible in our Tighty Bulgers.
Our prototype laser ruler is accurate to within 10 angstroms. Let’s just say you do not want to get into a dick measuring contest with us.
Exactly when and where is this Greek orgy supposedly taking place when they have a mixture of Ionic, Corinthian AND Doric dildos?
RT @TRell785: @party_boys
Mixed up our silent-popping GMO popcorn with our GMO popcorn that pops extra loud. Missed like half the dialogue in “Baby Geniuses.”
Ok, fine, Build Your Own Lotion Bar was a much better business plan in theory than in practice.
Going into the studio, working on a Stop Snitching mixtape for our boy Raj Rajaratnam.
364 more Every Other Mothers Days.
The bouncer ain’t buying these high school girls’ long-form Hawaiian birth certificates.
Man, Rip Taylor has been pulling this “I’m holding the last egg, but not in my hands” shit on us since we were kids.
The aliens we hang with are busting on the hoopties in the UFO photos.
Wait, who ordered all these trophies? Were we still thinking of having the crew compete in the Party_Games?
This booty contest feels like it’s lasting a million years.
The party_manifesto is now available in Na’vi and the Winklevoss’ secret twin language.
Do you like pina coladas? Then you are fucking poor.
So how long until this human centipede is supposed to become a human butterfly?
Can’t find a poster child for our Crowns for Downs Syndrome charity whose head will fit this coronet.
These emus need homes. They’re very loving, and it’s not their fault their names are Emuammar Qaddafi and Hosni Emubarak.
Handlin’ some agribiznatch.
Memo to the crew: We’re buying you all your own ice rinks. Please don’t, like, depose us.
Ugh, the market is just flooded with used jets right now.
Virginia Foxx deserves one more x and a lot less “virgin” in her name.
Next time remember that sumo wrestlers take hot tubbing _very_ seriously.
Where the Tahrir Square bitches at?
The end of that Egyptian porn we were downloading was not at all worth the wait.
Mubarak is hogging the Wii Fit.
What’s up with all the nerds in the hot tub at Davos?
Wait, does this mean Oprah isn’t our mommy anymore?!?!?!
PRO TIP: Generic hovercraft wax is hell of lumpy.
Fired all the midgets and hired a giant Santa so we can be the elves this year.