I'm having post traumatic stress flashbacks of last night. That big. Don't know whether to call him again or change my name...
before we even ate breakfast we'd found an eighth of weed in some old purse she never uses. it was gone by lunch
I guess our biggest consolation is that we haven't woken up in a hottub with a dead dude. Yet.
The last thing I remember is teaching our waffle house waitress to do the stanky leg and promising the grill cook we would come see him at his other job.
I've now spilled wine and got poptarts all over my cast. So much for my doc taking me seriously...
All I want is to get as high as I did that time I started hallucinating that my brother was becoming a monkey and I saw my mum on every surface of your room.
NOTHING IN THE WORLD IS GOOD SOFT
NOT ICECREAM NOT DICKS
NOTHING
Just cried because I'm out of oreos. This post-molly depression can go fuck itself.
We had sex and then I offered him a cookie...while he was still inside of me. Basically he's in love
The council and I are about to open up a bottle of malort.
UPGATe: THE COUNCIL AND I HAVE AGREED TO BAHN MALORT FROM THE HOUSEHOLD
Ok, now help me add to my topless picture collection, i'm going to make myself a calendar
I don't know who's idea it was to get wine for a frat party but my poor pitiful hung over self really fucking hates them.
HE CALLED HIMSELF HOT BAR GUY.
If I remember correctly he wasn’t
Sorry I didn't have my phone all night. Did we hang last night?
You bit me
Oh lord I need to hear this story
It was just a hint of nipple. I kept it classy!
Do you even hear yourself?
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