things it involved: vodka, boy parts, possible photos of me on a cell phone. things it did NOT involve last night: my bra, his pants, and sobriety.
At least I can take solace in the fact that with 8 billion some odd people in the world, at least one of them is shitting in their own car right now.
I'm not really sure how I got home, but judging by this headache, i'm assuming it involved bourbon.
I just sat in the Taco Bell drive-thru waiting for a trash can to take my order. Yes, that high.
Even tho I saw his penis. He is still a really nice guy.
You called him your tasty little crouton. Which actually wasn't the weirdest part.
In order of importance: Where am I? Where's my car? Where are my clothes? Who is this chick in the room?
Anne's couch, the bar, your car, Anne.
At a party. It smells like teen pregnancy and sadness in here.
This girl ordered Hershey syrup and red wine and he made it for her
you walked in on him eating me out and screamed SHE'LL BREAK YOUR HEART BRO before body slamming on the ground and passing out on the floor
"The cab driver felt bad for us so he stopped to buy us chocolates. That counts as a valentine!"
It's okay I missed my booty call by two whole minutes so I decided to delete him from my phone and then re-add him as "I am a douchelord"
Walked into a bathroom stall to pop an addy for my three back-to-back finals today. Felt like Clark Kent walking into a phonebooth.
That was when I yelled "Wisconsin powers activate!" and took off sprinting across the ice
PLEASE LET MY BIRD FUCK YOUR BIRD
Randomize
