My history with restaurant waiters is severely limiting our dinner options.
We got so high we made milksteak
I feel compelled to tell you that I woke up this morning and found an entire corn on the cob in my purse. Ive decided not to question my drunken behavior anymore, and to just accept it as my lifestyle.
you proceeded to scream out that it's your birthday to everyone who walked by before you collapsed in the middle of the street. happy 21st birthday to you.
I kept reassuring him that I was easy like Sunday morning, not easy like "I've had 6 shots of tequila and haven't had sex in three months"
Bright side: maybe hell start being nice to you now that you know he has erectile dysfunction.
I'm sorry. I just realized our 'big night out' ended up being you driving my high ass to get burritos and back.
Just picked up an ounce of keif and if it goes to waste before the world ends I'm gonna haunt the shit out of somebody when we all die.
We don't have any ice, so I'm using the frozen cognac to reduce the swelling on Abby's toe.
Apparently when it was last call I jumped up on the bar and told everyone to get the fuck out, which was immediately followed by a round of applause from the bouncers/bartenders and my tab getting paid as well.
I just want to pat him on the head, bake him some cookies, and reassure him that, someday, he will get laid.
Apparently there's nothing on sonza for "giving a handjob while sunbathing"
it's the international house of making me almost fucking shit myself
im shaving my vagina and listening to frank sinatra, im coming over after
i knew it was a party when i saw you sitting on the couch naked with the keg in your lap, still drinking and passing out cups
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