If there’s one thing Katniss and Peeta needed from their sponsors in the Hunger Games, it wasn’t boring bread. It was a flask filled to the brim with vodka/wine/rum/Everclear (not judging). Now you can have your own Hunger Games+Vodka Vendettas flask. Five lucky winners will receive one flask made by Liquid Courage! And if you’re not a winner, never fear…these flasks are now available for purchase at liquidcourageflasks.com! (Here and here.)

Here’s how to enter:

1. Follow @byLiquidCourage on Twitter.

2. Retweet this tweet and/or this tweet by us!

3. Comment below with your name, email address, and Twitter handle.

You have until Sunday at 11:59 p.m. to enter…the winners will be announced Monday morning!

Let the Giveaway Games begin!

Congrats to the five winners of our Exlusiv vodka and moscato giveaway! Adrienne Gorman, Karen Rodenheiser, Joanna Perry, Effie Miller and Sarah Head have all been selected as winners using a random line picker. The five of you have all been emailed regarding your mailing address and must reply within 48 hours!

Disappointed that your name isn’t on the list? Don’t be…we are working on future giveaways! Keep checking the blog/Facebook/Twitter for info on when the next one will be.

Keep loving #VV!

#kj

For any of you who think shacking is anything less than a perfectly calculated post-romp use sesh, you’re totally missing out. Sure, you can answer your after-bar booty call around three and be out of his bed and into yours by four, but really, where’s the fun in that? Read on.

1. Go to his place. Have you ever had a bar bro linger around your place on a Sunday morning? It’s not a good sitch. Your veins are full of alcohol and your hair is full of smoke. Then you have to get all creative and pretend you’re going to church or some shit, when really, you just want carte blanche to monopolize your queen-size and meet your brunch bitches for mimosas in 30. When you stay at his place, however, you make the rules. *See step two for further instruction.

2. Make sure he know he’s the slampiece. For this step to go smoothly, you have to maintain a sense of control. As stated in rule one, you have to make sure your slam sesh occurs at his place. You also want to make sure you leave on your accord. (And no, honey, I don’t just mean that 07 Honda your parents bought you post-grad.) You have to make sure you leave before he actually wants you to. If you’re one of those clingy bitches who likes to “cuddle” and shit in the morning, you’re on the wrong site.

   The only reason you should be sticking around past 10 is for:

a.) round two (or six, whatever)

b.) you’re waiting for his lazy ass to feed you (that’s right, we don’t make them sandwiches unless it’s a relaysh [abbrev for relationship, obvs!])

Remember, you’re not at this bro’s house to “sleep,” you can do that on your own fucking time, amiright?

3. Grab a T-shirt (at least). Get as much out of this as you possibly can—sex, food, alcohol, clothes, koozies, post-its, whatever. Sure, your dress still fits from last night, but who doesn’t love rocking six inches of BCBG with shacker shorts and a frocket tee? If you don’t want your outfit to scream walk-of-shame then you can stash some flats in your trunk just for such occasions.

4. Let him take you to breakfast/brunch/lunch (depending on whateverthefuck time you’re done using him for his body, bank account, etc.). That’s right, unless he’s a total fug fest, (in which case, why are you over there anyway? VV girls have standards, duh!) then you parade his ass around in public while wearing either last night’s outfit or your newly attained shacker gear, so everyone knows what’s up. The only reason they call it the “walk-of-shame” is because of bitches who aren’t proud of what they’re doing. If you maintain control, (*see rule two) then you have nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t pressure him into an FBO relaysh or anything (what about the other fratdaddies, right?), but you can let the other restaurant patrons know that you’ve been there and have gotten the damn T-shirt—literally (*see rule three).

5. Be “busy.” After you’re done using him for his goodies, it’s time to ignore the shit out of him until you’re ready for the next game of kiss-kiss-bang-bang. This is really fun on BBM because he can literally see that you’ve read what he sent and are just choosing not to reply. Sorry we’re not sorry. If he calls, don’t answer, just text/BBM him back. And if he texts/BBMs, make sure you take your sweet time to reply (if you choose to do so at all). This step really reinforces rule two. The less you reply, the more control you have. And the more control you have, the more successful your shacking experience will be.

Cheers, bitches.

#mc

This past week, #kj and I got word of a gathering at the local bar for dollar drinks. (And I mean, who—literally, WHO—in their right mind could turn down DOLLAR. DRINKS. C’mon!) Needless to say, we fell prey to peer pressure, so we were off. Ok. Fine. No one “pressured” us, per se, but regardless, we were going.

If anything should have been an indication of how this night was going to go, #kj and I mixing vodka and Four Loko shots should have been it. They were terrible. And I mean, fucking terrible. But they did the trick.

So. We finally make it to the bar—fashionably late and a little tipsy (see: rule no. 3). And not to inflate either of our egos any more than they already are, but let’s face it, we were cute as fuck. Being cute in an Alabama bar in the middle of the summer is like carrying a steak through a lion’s den—you’re going to get pawed at.

We’re used to the stares and the always appreciated, “Wassup, shawties,” and “Can I buy y’all a drink?” But this night was different. I don’t know if it was the fact that we mixed blackout in a can with Aristocrazy. Perhaps it was my floral, frilly rodeo dress or the fact that #kj wore black with “brown.” Hell, it could have easily been the full moon. Whatever it was, it made for a very interesting altercation in the first 20 minutes of our arrival.

I was approached at the back bar by a foreign dude that evidently thought I was either a.) attractive or b.) from his homeland. Either way it didn’t matter because I wasn’t interested. I think I may have said, “Hey,” at best, but I quickly turned and started talking to people I actually knew and, you know, wanted to talk to.

Well, apparently that did not go over so well because I was swiftly followed into the next room where he LITERALLY grabbed my arm and proceeded to tell me how “rude” I was. Dude. Chill out. It’s my prerogative whether I want to speak to you or not, sorry I’m not sorry. Well. Needless to say, some of our friends and other bar-goers did not take too kindly to ol’ boy calling us “rude Americans” and “fucking Alabamians.” Within minutes my dear friend had caused quite the uproar with the entire front bar involved. SMH.

Not to say that you can’t have a fun dollar drinks experience without causing a bar fight—but why the fuck would you want to?

#mc

Ok, #kj and I are convinced that other people aren’t as funny as we are because they do not find situations as amusing as we do.

Example: We were at the pool the other day, and as we are situating our towels and other pool side necessities, we notice that on the other side there is a guy with a leaf blower. It’s not just some random dude, no. I’m guessing he was at least employed by my apartment complex, so that’s not what makes this weird, but I digress….the odd thing is, is that he was blowing the deck, and at one point he was blowing the other people that were laying out, AND NO ONE WAS EVEN ALARMED. Like, honey, he just BLEW you….in front of everyone. No bueno. The other layer-outers just continued their conversations as if this happens to them everyday. I mean, let’s recap…a guy. with a leaf blower. just BLEW you with his blower. and you are not AT ALL concerned?! WHAT.

And, I’m done.

#mc