I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
Now I'll never know if Megan finds a millionaire.
I'm sorry. I think I have multiple personalities. Or it was the acid. Either way. I'm sorry.
... there are chew marks on my license. I have no idea.
Hung over. Bed full of legos for some reason. Not getting up. Come build stuff with me.
My neighbor asked me to tell you to stop changing in front of their house. Do I even want to know?
So apparently the bar gave out free condoms, which I now have a pocket full of. Why is drunk me shoving the fact that I'm single and not getting laid in sober me's face...
In case you wake up wondering why your eyes hurt... You were claiming to be Zeus and that mortal weapons couldn't harm you. Some chick took it as a challenge and pepper sprayed you. Sorry dude.
I just want to fall into a pit of xannies and eat my way out.
I wonder how your parents would feel if the scarf they gave me for Christmas is mainly being used for a blindfold during sex...
I feel like we need to find him and explain that if the two of them would just fuck he'd understand.
Why did I wake up to a snap chat of myself drinking beer out of a blender?
Maybe if I ever do become a counselor, I would just implement a kind of intensive meme therapy.
Last thing I remember I was riding on a picnic table being hauled around by a lawn mower with an empty case of bud light on my head...
I woke up with pitch black feet and crushed doritos around my mouth. That's how I determined how my night went
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