Ha. Yes. I'm at a strip club. I'm the barack obama of strip clubs
Plan B is the new Plan A
She started puking and I started running and I swear to god there was a wave of vomit chasing me down the stairs.
We sat in his closet and drank four loko out of my camelbak for an hour in the dark. You tell me how my night went.
New high score, I made the stripper choke me while I was getting a lap dance last night
The best revenge is living well. Or pooping in his sunroof. Either or
It's a "nonproductive" (vocab word) cough. It's like a constant tickle in my throat, like there's a little elf with feathers for feet going Gangnam style on my "uvula" (vocab word).
She left her panties here. They looked SOOO much smaller last night.
He has a British accent. He could read me the phone book and I would come so hard he would need a wizened old man in a rowboat to save him.
I woke up knowing I have nowhere to be today except parties and it was glorious and I am so happy
I just remembered I did the whole byebyebye dance at the bar
Only the sound of Friends and my gulping of wine are masking the sounds of my roommate getting laid
I didn't want to leave, I wanted to move into his ass
And you will die and be carried in a backpack before I allow you not to comply in this tomfoolery.
I want sex. When is an appropriate time post funeral to ask for something like that. Like when it gets dark out?
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