my dad came in to wish me a happy birthday and found me passed out in my underwear with the lights on and a plate of meat on the bed. i bet he was proud to have contributed to my creation in that moment.
champagne bombs. Yes, i think that is where things may have gotten out of control.
It hurts to peel the glue off my chest and i keep finding glitter in my hair.
I just wanted to decorate you...
I just took a shit with a lightsaber in my hand. Dreams fulfilled.
my parents decided to start a new christmas tradition. we will now be drinking champagne while opening presents, and we each get our own bottle
If sitting in the car passing a flask back and forth because the bar we go to is having some power issues on Christmas eve isn't Christmas spirit, then I don't know is.
Nothing like running into your favorite bartender in the middle of the afternoon while stone cold sober and being told your grabbed his penis the last time you were at his bar. My bad.
Overslept. So hungover. Apparently texting the first person in my contact list the time I would like to wake up is not how the alarm clock in my phone actually works.
You were discovered in a bush, smoking, and singing "in the jungle" to yourself. Which explains the scratches, but not the orange paint.
I'm honored that you could tear yourself away from your girlfriend's vagina long enough to text me.
I just masterbated to the home shopping channel...what have I become...
How exactly does a handjob become fancy?
Blueberry lube, and champagne.
I keep getting congratulated for drinking 2 six packs of mikes hard and winning the Olympic marathon and I don't remember this shit and now my throat is on fire
My boss stocked the communal fridge with Gatorade. It's like he wants me to come in hungover.
It's the never-ending clusterfuck that is my love life
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