I called the bartender Mr. Intoxication last night. He thought it was funny until i threw up and blamed it on him
I got a call from 999 999 9999. I didn't answer it because I was too busy freaking out about the number.
It was probably Jesus.
I feel like he would have left a message.
The child next door sounds like he's having vigorous sex in the backyard and it's making me very, very uncomfortable. I don't want to look.
i have no concept of time, i feel my nose, and im seeing everything in bitty hexagons.
I really don't understand how I cannot figure out how to work a fucking can opener when I'm hungover. Yet I still retained the ability to take a perfectly symmetrical picture of my erect penis and send it to every person in Matt's contacts the night before.
Whatever. We're stealing a penguin. Your not allowed near him... You did this to yourself.
My dick was out way too much saturday not to get laid
So I just told the bartender I would go down on her. You need to get here
As far as drugs go, alcohol has all the elegance and precision of hitting yourself in the head with a hammer.
I got drunken sympathy for the whales' plight last night and signed up to give $50 monthly to Greenpeace. Calling to cancel was worse than the hangover.
Hear that? That's the wail of a dying whale. Murderer.
I just pictured ballsacks being shoveled into the furnace of the Titanic.
a guy messaged me on POF to ask if I knew of any places that were hiring. And was being completely deadass serious. I'm so done
ayo
its like you know when i get waxed
Do not tell me I cant do drunk math ever again, AND I made a creative way of telling him I want him to fuck me.
I'm so stoned. We're making Josh's sister bake us brownies. She's so small and pixie like. Her brownies make me cry tears of happy.
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