I woke up this morning under my fitted sheet and my legs through the sleeves of my sweater.
no ping pong balls so we're playing beer pong with an ornament. you can't tell me that's not festive.
Just printed out my Plan B coupon at the library. Saving my own printer ink and paper as well as 10 dollars towards not being knocked up.
She just dipped a dollar bill in her queso dip and almost ate it before I slapped it out of her hand, no more bar crawls..
I apparently spent $173 at the bar last night. The proof is in the vomit on my pillow and the receipt I tried to clean it up with.
If I ever write a book, i'm calling it "why do i work with fucktards?"
It'll be a good sequel to my other book, "why do i sleep with fucktards?"
The way I see it, everyone on campus has a fake, but I'm the only person who actually makes beer in their dorm.
seis de mayo is my least favoite holiday because i usually spend it in bed sobbing over my poor life decisions from the night before.
He got kicked out 3 times. I have no idea how he kept getting back in. I saw him walking on the highway the next morning.
Another memory: We offered for a stranger to live in our house under the condition that he took the garbage out because it's a 'blue' job.
We are the best.
Ps. We need to take the garbage out.
With a few pieces of metal and duct tape and a bong was created
That feeling when you're ready to convert to the religion of whatever god will stop the vomit. Dynamite is illegal.
Any story that involves the words "bloody hand job" and/or "sliced penis" is bound to be a good one, right?
I feel like a sex bomb and I need to go explode on somebody
I can't believe the police had to bring me to my booty call last night
Randomize