I haven't worn deodorant in like three days and have been laying around in my underwear listening to music and drinking. I think i've made my own Bonnaroo in my apartment.
She says ass holes are for stuffing, the verb, not stuffing, the noun.
I have a feeling this won't be the last time I wake up wrapped in a shower curtain with the words "Blame Bono" spray painted on it
My life is a requiem composed in the key of fuck.
The only reason anyone found out he threw up is because everyone heard it sizzle the bonfire out.
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.
I miss the days of selfishly blowing a load in the condom without her knowing and acting all like "we shouldn't do this" so she would get dressed and leave.
Considering adding a large amount of vodka to my tomato cup-a-soup at work. Save me.
81 degrees in april.... Thinking margaritacicles, you in?
Dropping acid was like seeing the whole world as a blank canvas to imagine anything I wanted.
And apparently all you wanted was to watch the sun explode and me take 60,000 dicks to the face.
Oh. My. God. You texted my mom "IM BACK BITCHES!"
last night on the strip the guy screamed at you YOU GOTTA WORK ON YOUR CALVES.
I know he's not here, but I can still see him. I found some of my old stash and its good shit so its expected to see sunlight at night and scary llama men. Midgets or otherwise.
Me and you. The most fucked up people on the planet drinking together. Hell yeah
I don't think you could pull off being mean.
How do you think I'm still single?
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