I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
Woke up to 'distilleries' on the history channel. Proceded to vomit all over the floor. Back on the wagon today.
Just finished texting the 27th male name in my phone that i don't recognize. none of them were the hott kid i made out with last night. the search continues.
So there I was.....spitting on my goldfish just to keep it alive.
I'm sober in pajamas at a bar. Nothing is ok about that statement.
You never know, some chick could have a weird unibrow fetish.
Ok John needs to move to the other side of the county. I do not like to be approached for a blow job in the produce section of Holiday Market.
on my way to nyc to take a survey about my sexual activity. if you dont hear from me for a few days, assume they had me committed...
Who the fuck superglued glowsticks to my arm.
He made the Waffle House lady get me out of the car. This isn't a joke.
I am going to MURDER whoever gave him my phone number but it was probably drunk me so I'm conflicted.
Didn't think the day of being the oldest in a club would be when I'm twenty one. Even the bouncer looked surprised when he ID me.
You can trust me. I'm unemployed and not wearing pants.
My talents include parallel parking and over reacting about absolutely everything.. And drinking..
I dont know if hes kidding... but hes drunk and said hes going to shave his balls. Alert your emt friends
Randomize
