Apparently last night I sat at the bar with an upside down sharpie lightning bolt on my forehead, yelling "It's Harry Potter's birthday! Let me be on the qudditch team!" And I kept calling the bartender Dobby. There are videos.
home. puking in laundry basket.
My roommate was eating ketchup out of a bowl. Get me the hell out of here.
Through drunken recall, I have managed to bring back awful memories of losing my virginity. And possibly traumatized my niece trying to get her to "learn from my mistakes".
I don't like him near enough to give up day drinking AND my prostitute costume
Get your ass over here, we're drinking Patron and watching My Little Pony. Patron and Ponies, do you copy?!
Wait, you seriously DON'T keep vodka in your backpack??!??!?
Hell hath no fury like a woman whose gay sidekick you insult
I'm slightly more gay than I thought. I'd go so far as to say I'm a top.
Can I just have sex with him and then never talk to him? I need him to be the Mr. Miyagi of my sex life.
I, soberly, gave myself a concussion trying to take a pic of my vagina. Fuck you and your hangover.
Oh damn it. Let me get a beer. I can't take anymore bad news. Hold on.
No feeling is better than coming home from your booty call and putting on a fresh pair of granny panties
I just met a stripper in the light of day who I ate a candy bikini off her body. This is how my weekend is going.
He broke both of his legs jumping out of a window to escape a coyote.
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