Conclusion from last night: Sometimes being classy isn't as fun as making out with a guy on a pooltable in a bar. Happy birthday, Canada.
The paper boy just woke me up in the front yard again.
it's all just a bunch of faces and i remember what the floor looked like.
I just brushed my teeth. In the car. With watered down Sprite. From Saturday. Multi-tasking at its finest.
About to go out with the girl of my dreams tonight. I am looking at one of her hottest fb pics, to practice not looking at her huge tits.
I see your smile in the face of every drunk that senses he's about to slay a troll.
Quick question: how do I take a nice picture of my ass? I'm asking you because I figure with an ass like yours you're probably experienced.
This is why I can't have Wednesdays.... Or adult decisions.
You could make a naked club. One member, you. One president, you.
I sliced my fucking arm open last night after margarita madness and had to drive myself to the ER. Got six stitches and a social worker came in and asked if I was abused due to my sex bruises. I literally had to tell her "don't worry, I like it rough"
Not my fault the fence refused to just break when I ran into it.
My sex life reached a new low tonight: we stopped into this bar so I could pee and when I got out of the bathroom my parents had ordered a round for us and this traveling nurse they met and were trying to run game for me. Saddest part? She was actually going for it.
It was like sex on an active volcano surrounded by the night sky and bloodhounds. And by that I mean it was nice.
I'm in love. Her name is Jamie. She's beautiful. She punched me in the face.
I wanna print it out and hang it on the fridge like parents do with good report cards.
oh the joys of a picture of a negative pregnancy test
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