You were face down, at your computer, surrounded by beer bottles listening a bagpipes version of amazing grace.
no.. I went home. Puking up hot dogs and lemon tart isn't as lovely as it sounds.
I'm like connect-the-dots of drunk. Whiskey, bourbon, vodka, rum, gin. The hidden picture is me faceplanting.
my bedside table was not meant to hold this many beer bottles.
yo everyone went to the hospital last night
I told him if he wanted to lose weight he had to learn self control. Less than ten minutes after that I ate a cookie off the floor...
I know, I know. But we've discussed my friends and appropriate social behaviour, and I'm pretty sure topless karaoke was a no-no.
Do you think the firemen will remember me?
Yes. But you were sloppy, sobbing, and puked on two of them. You won't get in their pants.
Hey! I need booze. And penises. And a lot of mistakes that I will regret in the morning.
I'm getting married
To pizza
I know how vodka works Grace. I'm drunk, not stupid.
I think we can say happy hour is successful when you have frosting and southern comfort in your hair.
Earlier today I was eating cookie dough from a tube, now I'm laying naked next to a hot guy watching Pawn Stars in between orgasms. You really can have it all.
I have just received a gold-medal-deserving sext. He wrote me a fucking novel. Not only am I incredibly turned on but I am beyond impressed. He is the sext god. I must bow to him.
I need weed and if he's hot, maybe he can supply me with sex too.
Randomize
