she's like "i'm so proud of u" ... and then i threw up on myself
I'm at the cafe. It's 7am. There is a girl I don't know on my futon who tried to tickle me this morning when I got down from my loft. I also not wearing any underwear.
She is the perfect woman. She cooks, gives good head and doesn't care that I have a small penis.
Do they take checks?
Did you really just ask me if you could write a check for a DRUG DEAL?
I KNOW. I'm like, ew who are these ppl. And then I remember I'm traveling to New York to accidentally hook it with two different dudes in one weekend.
To say the least, now you know you're a proper lady, passing a field sobriety test in heels...
shes taking the breakup well, i walked in on her naked passed out wearing a turban with a bag of peanut butter choc chips in hand at 5 in the afternoon.
Beer is acceptable at 830am if it's your bday, right?
I had to run home with my hands covering my tits this morning. How does this keep happening?
Today is all about not throwing up, where the fuck are my keys and does anyone know what happened to that guy in the panda suit my roommate had sex with last night.
Do they mail horrible human being awards or do I have to pick it up or what's the protocol on that shit
I started singing I believe I can fly in the shower and it was like the first stage of insanity
I love how my phone automatically capitalizes Margarita. R-e-s-p-e-c-t.
Nothing says you made great Saturday night choices like someone's dick that you don't remember, poking you in the ass Sunday morning.
I think it might be the guy sitting next to me. I've concluded he HAS to be smuggling insane amounts of onions in his wardrobe to smell like that
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