My life is like a Sweet Valley High book but with lots of alcohol.
We may or may not have a drunk cat on our hands.
I feel like a bad episode of csi trying to figure everyone's DNA that's in me
his penis is like a homeless cat. ever since I've satisfied him he keeps showing up on my doorstep ask for more.
His sex texting was like a step by step guide to the most boring sex ever...
she reminds me of the kind of girl who'd fuck in church if you asked. I can dig it.
I have a question, if it paid really well, like ridiculously well, would you be a restaraunts under the table resident blowjob girl?
Thank GOD those kids were having a lemonade stand, I didn't have anything to wash down my plan b with.
My last memory involves me naked in a mens's bathroom stall. I really hope my date was with me.
I also tried to drunkenly adopt a kitten last night. It didn't pan out.
I don't think I'd trust a marching band with trampolines to not cause serious damage to themselves/ property.
He asked me if I wanted to play "Edouard Mandevan," turns out that's French for Edward Winehands
Taking shots of gin by myself out of TMNT glasses and chasing with bites of chocolate cake. AMERICA.
I got a blow torch for Christmas. You are now permitted to be afraid.
You must take up my position now. You must pass out in awkward places as I taught you... Sears a hotel elevator and Burger King bathroom. You potential for greater young grasshopper.
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