My mom said "I don't want to fund your drug problem" so she gave me a gift card to the book store. I now have a 420 page book on growing weed.
well seeing as i got a call at 5 am from the hotel manager telling me my cousin was passed out on the lobby floor...not good
who knew that a girl that let me piss on her within 20 minutes of meeting her would get upset i couldn't remember her name.
Why is it only times like these when I'm scrubbing the cum stains off my futon before my family gets here that I seriously begin to question my life choices?
I'm sure it was awkward. I've never had a professor expose parts of them to me before.
Totally just projectile vomited while ridind a bicycle.
He puked in the funnel and continued to chug it. Who is this dude?
I should just black out in my front yard again- that was a great nights sleep.
I just used a baby fork as a roach clip. I am totally the cool aunt.
What can i say, i'm an artist. I think deep thoughts. In between the homoerotica and pterodactyl noises
I'm offering you baseball tickets and my vagina, isn't that enough?
This guy is selling weed on the train. Like... Straight up. No fucks given.
I just came so hard my vision went blurry. I can only hope one day I'll find a man that can accomplish what my left hand does on a tri-daily basis.
You don't know true terror until you get stuck in a porta potty while frying your face off.
What's the tour de bar? Is that a thing, or is it just what you call Saturdays?
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