So, I woke up to an empty bottle of scotch and a dead car. The last thing I remember are the strippers being mad at me. Awesome night.
Feels good to be wearing underwear again though...
we sang an acapella version of barbara ann to his voicemail...i'm not drinking again until tuesday.
I forgot to tell you the best part. The folded up paper he wrote his number on opened up to be a picture of him when he was younger wearing a Columbia tshirt in front of NASA and in pen said his name and "space consultant."
how did he go about obtaining bull sperm?
i asked if you wanted help changing your sheets after you threw up in bed. you politely declined. i take no responsibility after that.
That doesn't help it make any more sense. Because now you've brought pinata condoms into this.
cracked out the beer snorkel again. that thing has a five for five record of getting me naked.
And by sexy pictures I mean pictures of my penis in strange places. I rock out with my cock out.
She kept telling people I wrecked her brain. That high.
Just brought out that old CCM hockey helmet. The one covered in sharpie penises with "DRUNK BUCKET" written across the front. The number of tally marks / initials from tonight's drunk stunts alone is equal parts inspiring and alarming.
He jizzed all over my ID badge. HR is gonna be pissed...
I'm giving head in a stairwell, I'll be back in a few minutes. I'm so ashamed.
They don't have a Valentines Day card for the married guy I'm sleeping with. It can't use the words, love, soulmate, you're the only one for me...and obviously it can't be anything related to spending the day together because that's not happening.
He walked into me masturbating to a framed picture of Bill Murray riding a t-rex
I get so sad when I watch him slowly destroy his life with whiskey and cocaine. Then he bites my neck and I just want to fuck him. I can't help it.
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