What are you doing?
High. Watching Billy Mays infomercials...
That guy could sell me cancer.
So he thinks I sent him a picture of my boob last night, but it was really just a close up of my arm.
He just made me apologize because his morning wood is NOT a laughing matter.
I don't know if I want to cry scream puke or go somewhere and drink more. This is such a weird emotion.
Seriously, it sounds like someone is torturing a dozen cats inside a Japanese techno club while a jamaican yells random hipster words through a megaphone.
So I did end up texting him last night... I asked him how he felt about haircuts... not sure where I was going with that one?
He passed out. I tried to set his chest hair on fire.
You don't know how small your school is until you know everyone in the ER on a Friday night.
I got to walk around for eight hours wearing power armor and acting camp. No way I wouldn't love it.
I got home at 1 am on a weeknight with lube in my hair. I'd say it was a successful first date.
Nothing says "Happy New Year" like having to shit into a plastic bag.
It's just not St. Patrick's Day until someone pukes on your panties.
I met my future wife last night. She's a bombshell from Delaware, hates Trump, and humiliated two old men in a GOP healthcare debate while simultaneously convincing them to pick up both of our bar tabs.
No one should have to go to work between Christmas and New Years, but here I am twirling in my office chair and putting Jack in my coffee like I’m back in college studying for finals.
Some bitch is passed out in a pool of vomit. Fucking lightweight, it's only 8.30.
Oh, wait.. That's you.
Randomize
