stop calling my apartment porn island.
And then I have a slight inkling that I went up to the bar and tried to order the bartender.
My mom's crying. That means it must be Christmas.
It's like, I'm the official vagina for that DJ group
They left me stranded on the side of the road with a table and five gallons of water. They said it was all I really needed to survive. People are staring
University has ruined us all. I just had to clarify the last time I had sex as "No, not at the party we crawled home from in the snow. It was the one where you puked off the balcony and hit the barbecue."
We all have to be good at something. Mine are writing, drinking, fucking and peer pressure.
Almost to work. And still feel hungover. Like my body is trying to regenerate after dying. Full on zombie shit. But like, one of those zombies from warm bodies that comes back to life slowly.
You know I love you. I just don't love your penis.
Nothing. Its like my body doesn't know how to function on a Saturday when its not hungover and/or still drunk.
My one night stand said I love you, opened my fridge, stole my cream cheese and left.
And besides a nice relationship, I just really want to get laid damnit
why the fuck is there hamburger meat in the toaster. i repeat: WHY THE FUCK IS THERE HAMBURGER MEAT IN MY NEW TOASTER
we watched a guy take a shot of tequila while riding a unicycle
Honestly after an incomprehensible political rant yoga seems like the best option at 2 am
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