my "about me" section on Facebook should read "hell-bound alcoholic who wants to fuck a 40-year-old crackhead"
Come home. Power Hour by yourself is only fun for the first 10 minutes.
I couldn't walk, so he carried me all the way home; and then I told him that I wasn't drunk enough to fuck him. Poor kid.
There was no way out of it, seeing as I left my photo ID right next to the vomit.
You kept telling the cops that our ice luge was practice for the next winter olympics
First I must say that I am disappointed to learn that you knowingly have trashy friends with whom you've not hooked me up.
Pot head idea of the day: make a maraca out of weed seeds. Or a rain stick? Definitely rain stick.
I wish dancing around my house in my bra and underwear to Love Shack whilst eating strawberry cake batter was an acceptable form of exercise.
We stared down the barrel of pure insanity, took more and the electric elephant god rewarded our fearlessness by giving me golden skulls and naked women crawling out of the walls. I love acid
the cops are being surprisingly chill about david hanging from a tree with no pants.
Cheers to being single today. There's an entire box of franzia with my name on it.
I'm just that drunk tells people I love them or wants to set them on fire. Accept that.
You are talking to me during sexting hours. Be careful, innuendos are taken seriously
It was great. We stayed up all night talking about objects he'd put in his theoretical vagina.
She was a cheerleader in college and President of her sorority and now she’s a sales rep for a pharmaceutical corporation. “High maintenance hot” doesn’t even begin to explain it
But dear lord is it worth it
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