I walked in on my roommate finishing watching something on his computer. There was cum all over his screen. He awkwardly said hi and pulled up his pants.
I went for the touchdown every play, and I think I ended up with herpes.
He was drunk at Denny's at 5 am saying how Dear John was the worst movie he has ever seen... eyes filled with tears.
when i got home i made myself toast with butter & put pasta on it. I know this cause it's all over my bed.
Some one left their pants in the elevator.
remind me not to fuck anymore half bald 20 year olds. because obviously there's attachment issues
Also, my drunkenly packed sleepover kit consisted of a singular sock, my uncharged laptop, and a pack of post-it notes.
Oh, and also, a couple of straight girls showed up. But they ran away.
I'm going to smoke the pathetic stems and miscellaneous particles that weren't good enough for all my other bowls because its all I have left. This is my bag's Rudy moment.
I don't care if my next phone has to run on the blood of virgin koala bears, I don't want to be scrambling for a charger.
And suddenly....Tubas. Tubas everywhere.
NO HE PUT HIS HAND IN HIS PANTS BEFORE HE TOUCHED THE BONG.
ILLEGAL
shut up and let me use my vagina as a weapon of self destruction in peace!
Lest it die in the depths of eternal drunken recall denial...we peed in the street. Middle of the street. Simultaneously. Peed. Street. Middle of street.
I hate that I still want him to look at me as the vagina that got away.
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