Last night was an abortion. I might need a publicist.
you know what would be great? if dirt tasted like steak and could get you drunk.
you win again, gameday.
So I'm pretty sure I fucked the dept of homeland security guy on my kitchen table. No recollection of it, but there are signs.
Did the math... it's Magna Cum Laude whether I get a 4.0 or a 0.0 this semester. I'm blacking out now, wake me up when I have to walk across the stage,
3 a.m. laundry plus 100 proof peppermint schnapps does not turn out well. Not only is there a puddle of detergent outside the laundry room that I spilled, but my clothes were found in the dryer wit a box of Franzia and a 40. Good thing I was too drunk to turn it on.
She looked at my cock with a kind of resigned disappointment.
Found out last night that "Everclear" is Spanish for "shit got weird"...
I thought I was smashed last night but the girl trying to pee in the fridge had me beat. True story.
He's drinking on a hospital bracelet, the fuck's your excuse?
I think I'm going to call this chapter of my life story "Weekday day-drinking in the park isn't just for the homeless!"
Hopefully they won't bring up last year's Christmas party. I kind of predicted my great aunt's death...
he drank half a bottle of bushmills, stood up to pee over the side, pissed his pants, sat in the puddle on the deck, told me my life goals were stupid and impossible, and wouldn't leave until 5am. by the time I got up at 8 I had 4 texts and 2 fb messages from him. AND HE STILL THINKS IT WENT WELL
If it makes you feel better he's in the stall next to me and I'm taking a diabolical shit. He's complaining
My boob job is like a master key that gets me in any door, any party and anyone’s pants! They’re magical!
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