Just got my period. I'm not pregnant with Scott's child and I won't be having any sex tonight. This must be what they mean by bittersweet.
I just threw up a christmastime peep. I am literally already sick of the holidays.
Whoa. I woke up to 10 new text messages. All about bacon.
I'm going to die alone in a sea of empty vodka bottles and cats.
I am going to wait until he wakes up to set his couch on fire and then pee it out. That way he knows it was not an accident.
Got him to take a shot from the drip pan on the George Forman. He's gone now.
In 30 minutes I will have been sober for an entire month. Time for a celebratory lap of cheap alcohol that leads to early liver failure.
But happy liver failure. That's what counts.
Don't pretend like we're functional. We're gonna discuss this drunkenly via text the way serious conversations should take place.
You insisted we put glow sticks on you so that we didn't lose you if you went pee in the dark.
I had this image of some guy in a taco truck down by the IMA accosting you for a peep show.
You might call them booze related cuts, I call it "partying so hard you sweat blood"
We are the best cocktail. We look appealing, taste amazing, and ruin lives.
The first thing you did was give us a tour of the house and showed us who was "on-limits" and "off-limits"
When I get off work and you're not around to hang out with all I do is lay around in my underwear and eat potatoes.
When you realized the door was unlocked, you did the mission impossible yheme song and snuck into the bathroom. And continued it while you peed.
Randomize
