Matt just took me to visit my puke stain from 2 weeks ago at the train station...I'm fucking impressive
the only evidence i have from this weekend existing is a title page for a novel i tried writing called "the oyster who gave up drinking"
drunk doesnt even begin to explain it. he said he was going to get playing cards from the lobby and came back 20 minutes later with a full set of sheets.
Apparently she came home completely covered in mud, pretending to be a bird...and she still had more sex than any of us this weekend.
I just debated creating a mirror system so I could play Batman while in the bathroom. I think I need help.
I already knew that. But I also don't agree with stifling creativity.
I got to masturbate in Rome in a gorgeous hotel room. Don't try and tell me I need a boyfriend
I just realized that I have to choose between a future orthopedic surgeon and a dude currently in jail. My life is so fucked.
I was fed cake in bed and then was pinned down and ridden till I came. And then fed more cake. I'm going to marry Brad. I'll put money on it.
I'm doing an Uber ride of shame in a red, white and blue bikini top and America shorts. Good for me.
Can we smoke pot out of a menorah?
First things first, I always get more drunk than the birthday girl. Like, who's idea was it to sing karaoke? I killed it.
I just want a simple guy who likes cats, tattoos, and doing coke off my tits.
You went to pound town last night and chow town this morning. Boy you need a passport.
It's just not St. Patrick's Day until someone pukes on your panties.
You’re a genius! I just walked in, shut the door, blew him and left. He could barely move afterwards and was a hot mess at the presentation. He already sent me a calendar invite for another meeting
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