Oh, Whitney...

I'd say you had a good night if you came stumbling out of a club with scratches on your arm, blood running down your leg, a gut full of coke bloat, sweaty strands of hair in your face and your scattered emotions switching from "I LOVE ALL Y'ALL!" to "FUCK ALL Y'ALL!" in the blink of a side-eye. But when I see Whitney Houston stumbling out Kelly Price's Grammy party looking like this, I don't need to see any receipts before I shake my head while cursing Ray-J's crook...

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