I found the seven page love letter I had written you. I'm sorry i was so obsessed.
I lined up everyone's pillows and I'm playing Evel Knievel when I jerk off later.
Probably should plan this out. Step one: grow stache. Two: get trenchcoat. Three: Kidnap Selena Gomez.
I had better be fucking involved with step four.
theres no point in washing my sheets anymore. its always going to be a fine layer of booze and semen.
im trying to pick out the cookie crumbs from my adderall. it is a lot harder than it seems.
I'm pretty sure we've had sex a bunch more times than we've hugged. So hugs are weird when they happen.
I knew the only reason I bought a smartphone was to play "You're Havin My Baby" on the way to cvs to buy Plan B.
It turns out tequila bombs is really code for straight shots of tequila…who would have guessed?
So you're on like a list there now..."Do not under any circumstances give this person a knife. Serve them in plastic cups ONLY"
Your choices in alcohol this weekend are thoroughly disappointing
Last time I checked he was house sitting for his ex while she was out of town with some new dude. He was crying about how the guy told him to stay out of his whiskey while he was gone. That's whipped
PLEASE AT LEAST MEOW SO I KNOW YOU AREN'T DEAD
Anytime he goes down on me i automatically think of you cheering me on. Your a good friend.
I currently hiding in an upside down garbage can please come find me
I'm sorry i showed you my boobs.. I probably shouldn't have done that.
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