I'm in a strip club that reminds me of a crack house from the 80's.
its not stalking. its research.
the party we crashed was not a party. the party we crashed was jens grandads funeral.
Well, I guess that settles the question of how thick the walls are in my building.
I'm like connect-the-dots of drunk. Whiskey, bourbon, vodka, rum, gin. The hidden picture is me faceplanting.
hey did I tally my arm again of # of shots?
nope, you were tallying rejections at the party
I've also hijacked your can opener. Sadly not for the same sexual reason as the muddler.
It's just my hair. It brings natural happiness. Like goldfish, big boobs, and milkshakes.
Watching the dude who probably knocked me up be all cute with his girlfriend on my couch. I am too nice, and I hate today.
She licked my face when I was on the phone with a customer and I just laughed. Im not sure if thats good or bad
I can get there in 20, one question, Drress Code? Stripper Lite (make up may require an additional 5-10 minutes), Suggestive Professor (professor Kamil's cleavage ain't got nothing on me), Daywear, Dyke (and trust me you ain't seen dyke), or Exactly What I'm Wearing Right Now. (all of the above may arrive under a coat and are subject to my level of sobriety. Which is currently like nonexistent).--xoxo you know you love me, Gossip Girl.
After sex he just told me I'm definitely pregnant and it's a girl. Should I run?
No alcohol sales on Election Day. WTF? Today, of all days, I need to be splurged to to vote for any of these morons running for president.
Because of you I can never eat chicken nuggets without thinking of you fucking him. I hope youre happy. I really do.
QUIT BEING A BITCH, DRINK SOME PEPTO, AND PUKE ON OUR FOES
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