Probably should plan this out. Step one: grow stache. Two: get trenchcoat. Three: Kidnap Selena Gomez.
I had better be fucking involved with step four.
Did I get blown in the bathroom? Yes. Did she throw up cranberry juice on my shorts? Yes. Did she finish the job? Yes.
That girl you went home with last night was dressed in a bright blue sweats at the bar. 205lb Smurffete FTL. Boy were you in epic form.
When you went through airport security you asked if the could check if a baby was in there. That drunk.
The doctor said 'youre the 2nd youngest person that ive seen with this condition. Thats probably not the silver medal you were looking for today.'
I should probably just look up vagina pictures in the anatomy textbook. That always cheers me up.
I legitimately forgot how to blow my nose just now. Sleep might be handy.
Imma do me. And by that, I mean I'm going to walk across campus still drunk at 9am on a Tuesday.
This is that think about life weed. Thank god I'm in American lit this semester. I can actually write papers in this vat of introspective stoned.
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 so jealous of your sex life. You know it's awesome when thinking about the sex you had last night brings you tears of joy.
Are we at that point yet where I can just say "I want you to sit on my face"? If not, want to go out for "drinks"?
Stripping out of my teacher clothes to Talk Dirty to Me. Who let me become a teacher?
I sexted him with a GIF from titanic and it worked....
The problem with adderall is that no matter what I'm doing, I feel like it was the most productive thing I've EVER done.
Did you alphabetize our spice cupboard again?
...You'll thank me later.
Randomize
