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.
when i told him i was pregnant with his baby he texted me 'congradulations'
i pity the fetus.
You planned my entire going away party sitting in the bath tub cradling a bottle of Cuervo. You promised me fire jugglers. And a pinata.
All the alcohol I spilled on myself must have acted as a disinfectant or something. I haven't showered in three days and I still don't have a staph infection from sleeping on the lawn with you.
If this week is any indication of my life here I've got to get out ASAP. My liver can't hack it.
I am too hungover to address any of this right now, every time i move it feels like i'm being bitch slapped by the hand of God
They're letting me teach a freshman-laden class now. This university needs better background checks.
I don't know... But I do think this is probably the longest series of texts we've written discussing your cock. David was right, it is a brave new world. Also, slow day at work again?
Plus, I've always wanted to drive in rush hour with a huge cock drawn on my hood
In your drunken glory you promised me, tongue, 12 naked pics, and 1,800 breakfasts.
I WAS CONCIEVED IN THE BACK OF MY CAR. THATS HOW OLD THIS CAR IS.
...how and why.
PARENTS ARE MAGIC.
I should rephrase... I'm trying to not sit on other peoples faces besides my boyfriends.
we need to invent and abuse teleportation
You grabbed my arm, said "I need you" in a very concerned voice and dragged me to the other room where you were blasting Evolution of Beyoncé.
Hey I can officially say I made out with a drug lord.
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