I could write a book called "things that come out of my vagina"
I never doubt that you might be drinking at any moment.
No, we ended up finding him drunk at a bus stop downtown sitting on the bench asking people for chocolates and amazing stories to "rid his mind of his whore of a girlfriend"
I don't know where my bra went.
Welll you ran into the street, took it off and yelled "I'm a free woman!". And then you threw it at some homeless guy.
He said he forgot to take his shoes off, and that he was a bad boy because he was walking on the carpet. Then he sang. Then he shouted "I'M STILL FORGETTING."
He's basically like a fancy dildo that buys me dinner.
I mean besides the fact someone got stabbed, I still had a pretty good night.
I took a few sips of my hugeee bottle of liquid Vicodin and smoked my one hitter and now I'm going thru my attic like Indiana Jones
My entire summer has consisted of being too drunk for this shit, too sober for this shit, or too hungover for this shit.
somehow I feel like "adventures with cocaine and molly" wouldn't be an appropriate "How I Spent My Spring Break" essay topic.
He's only done it missionary. His world is about to be rocked. Do you know what I look like from behind?
I'm sorry I was just sleeping on the kitchen floor I'm too dead to think
I'm somewhere between crying and wanting to orgasm.
How did I get the fat lip, while puking I may or may not have sneezed... Wacking my face into the toilet bowl...
You can’t judge a dick by its balls.
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