The good thing about walking home in a dress on sunday morning is that people mistake my walk of shame as a walk to God.
You were so high at Ikea last night that you were convinced you could speak Swedish. The whole the time you were our navigator and when we got to the cashier you were hitting on the lady. When she gave you her number you told her you were saving her number as Inglfurfta cuaue she must be swedish since she works there.
she said she was gay. i said prove it. she said "ok i wont fuck you"
Oh and fyi, I've been drinking and about to do free weights. I'll late you know how this goes.
Well someone has to be the Christmas slut at the family dinner. I suppose it's my year to fill those shoes.
She's riding a tiny four-wheeler and has a Dos Equis in her hand. I at least have to meet her.
There is a girl on the metro with no shoes and she's using a Crown Royal bag as a purse.
As if me making pizza in a skillet wasn't enough proof that I was in no state to be cooking, this burn blister on my hand is
Well my door is unlocked for you, I'll be in the bathtub drinking a pre-mixed bottle of margarita until I forget the degree to which my life sucks.
Like, you've got the smoothest dick in the west. Do you moisturize?
Yes I do
My favorite part of you downing a fifth of fireball in my apartment by yourself is the shot glass in the sink. It's like you attempted moderation and were just like "Fuck this."
You fell while talking to a cop, then proceeded to acuse him of tripping you... he was arresting you for public intox.
don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not drunk but I need you to take me to the ER and you're the most likely to not be drunk now.
Unexpected pro of the hostel though: literally down the street from Coors Field. I could literally fart on the building in five minutes.
Last night we proved the theory that "harder" is the worst rough sex safe-word ever.
Randomize
