Dear everyone that texted me last night wondering where i was. i ended up face down blacked up drunk before i made it to the party. My bad
I just saw a guy give a mop to his fat wife and say "Look, an exercise stick!"
WORST DINGLEBERRY EVER
I was so high I couldnt even listen to music i was terrified of the potential knowledge i would gain.
So you think it's my fault? I didn't give you the 10 shots you took nor make you eat the brownies we made... btw, i found your engagement ring, it was in the last brownie you wouldn't let me have while dragging me to my room.
You don't understand she was in the fountain pretending she was diving for treasure. I couldn't possibly ruin her dreams.
but im not going to tell the owner of the penis of my dreams how to wear his hair.
for me, it's working out the tricky timing of the Viagra and nightly laxative.
I feel like one thing if I have going for me is that my bed looks like a nice place to have sex
i don't remember much about your party last weekend but i remember you being so drunk you were crying in your driveway about pickles at four am
I spent two entire hours explaining to a guy why I wouldn't make out with him. How was your night?
I've had my dick out in public way too much for someone my age...
Life update: This fucking MacBook repair guy called me over last night for a booty call and he didn’t have a condom OR a bed
I love how fuckboys immediately become cultured when I tell them I’m an artist.
My brain is a dvd screensaver and I'm allowed to have a good thought when it hits the corner
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