I slept walked to the toilet and woke up pooping. Easily one of the most disorienting events of my life.
I'm sorry I kept calling last night when you wouldn't pick up. I'm REALLY sorry I sang "You Oughta Know" on more than 4 voice mails.
Don't blame the cocaine for your eating disorder.
If I die I am blaming you for not answering to tell me the proper dosage of horse tranquilizers to take
I think he just gave me the 'I used to sleep with your sister' discount
the bar just sent me a facebook message congratulating me on being a regular and getting such good grades. my life is not real.
I have discovered that there is nothing that a giant penis attached to a southern accent can't talk me into. yee-haw!
Drinking gin at a party, riding a giant inflatable walrus all around the living room.
My lower body still feels like its been through a garbage disposal and a trash compactor. In that order.
We're stoned and watching little Einstein videos. Come. Over. Now.
A blow job from a tiger shark would still entail less risk to your genitals than having sex with her.
returning from a 6am booty call in 2 feet of snow on a Tuesday is a bold new kind of low for me
I don't give a shit if you judge. This isn't about you or anyone else. This is about me and my chicken tenders.
New low: uploading my contacts into Facebook in an attempt to get the name of the girl I brought home last night.
We fucked like animals on that lion king beanbag chair that your mom got you for your 10th bday
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