The walk of shame is far, far worse on crutches.
Going to eat lunch. Bunch of people in church clothes, and we are hungover, wearing pajamas, and in real danger of puking on the floor. We're about to destroy the ambience of this joint.
The goblet must only be used for good. And vodka. And anything t-pain would be proud of.
Damn you and your Monday night power hours.
No night ever ends well that starts with "you know what this needs? More tequila".
There is no amount of alcohol that can make me forget I had a Jimmy Kimmel sex dream
I woke up this morning to a lot of blurry photos of a swan i must have chased down the riverbank and a handbag full of loose haribo.
I'm going to start referring to my liver is Livy. I feel like if I give it an affectionate nickname it will hate me less. Livy isn't ready for syllabus week.
I think we all know your liver needs a man's name.
My 19 year old brother just hooked up with his 45 year old cougar kindergarten teacher. These sorts of situations make me realize why the sorority girls call him Wondercock
Any idea why my ass cheeks are bruised again?
The fact that theyre bruised AGAIN means you're not adult enough to know why.
Damn. Looks like nobody I know is doing anything interesting. Guess it's another slut-it-up-with-strangers sort of night.
She had a toddler. It threw up and then some guy said party foul and put it on the porch. Going back next Friday.
I had a dream I hooked up with Post Malone. I can still smell the dream
Currently standing at the bus stop in just a pillowcase and its fucking snowing
Seriously considering taking a nap at lunchtime in my car. That. Hung. Over.
Randomize
