I feel like death. And death is wearing a fleece blanket as a dress. And is seriously contemplating wearing this to go get something to eat.
In other news I saw a pack of make believe zombies walking down green st.
gotta love wednesdays
we've got reservations. ask for the eat a bag of dicks table
After so many times of carrying your puked covered clothes home in a bag on a Tuesday morning, you begin to realize that Fucked Up Mondays aren't a real thing.
Well I can't message him and be like "hey I was behind you in CVS a month ago and I remembered your last name and DOB and looked you up on fb and added you so wanna hang out"
You left wolverine marks
I'm somewhere between sorry and proud
But I aced my quizzes. Apparently flash card beer pong is an acceptable form of studying.
When you're looking for your panties tomorrow, you traded them for a blunt on the train.
No celebraish? But today's the day that Jesus, Bruce Springsteen, and a flock of bald eagles came down from the heavens in fighter jets with electric guitars and M-16s a blazon, saying "Hey America, fuck the Red Coats, it's time to party"
How do you keep manipulating these men into helping you?
I'm a massage therapist with an oral fixation. It's not nearly as hard as you make it out to be.
I'm in his bed with no pants on and he's just eating a sloppy joe
Fucking adderall I just talked at the security guard for 90 minutes
I'm in the Sheetz parking lot waiting for dad to finish a drug deal.
For the love of god, if any of you are up, bring me pants.
I'm gonna write a book entitled "when you give a cop a cookie..."
I don't even want to know.
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