To separate yourself from the uncouth tiara-wearing Kath & Kim kents in stretch Hummers, one must always wear a felt brimmed hat. Furthermore, wear your best high heels as given your drunk arse is destined to stack it like an OCD kid playing Jenga, you may as well do it in style.
If you haven’t booked a party bus then you haven’t attained #squad goals. Simple. The average party bus has seen more bodily fluids than a World of Warcraft player’s computer chair, nevertheless, the ghosts of stains-past have nothing on the disgusting behaviour you’ll subject it too: goon skolls, titty flashes and renditions of the latest bangers with all the pitch perfection of a molested seabird.
If you rock up to a winery and they don’t have rosé then leave immediately. It’s #roséallday baby and pledging allegiance to a wine that can’t decide what it wants to be is a perfect metaphor for the general indecisiveness that leads you to battle over whether to have brunch or be financially secure, you millennial piece of shit.
The squad in front of the party bus – check. Boomerang chinking your wine – check. Your besties in front of the vines – check. The platter of cheese, crackers & quince jelly- check. On Instagram you are looking pretty fucking sophisticated, which is in stark contrast to the Snapchat stories showing you chucking a squat in the bushes, vomiting out the party bus and necking bottles of wine like a booze-duck with no gag reflex.
Restaurants love it when a wine bus rolls in with 20 drunk girls all wanting to share a couple of plates of their cheapest shit. Make sure to talk over the service staff as they try their best to wrangle this pack of wild cats.
Oh and make sure you leave a drunken review about how you weren’t treated like the princess that you most certainly are not.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?