My dad just sent me a text telling me to "say hi to all the luscious bitches" at the gay bar. Guess this explains my childhood
highlight of my day: just saw a crying girl get dropped off at home wearing only socks, booty shorts, and a dirty wifebeeter. I wonder what happened to the costume...
It's 10am. I'm hungover wearing a flyers jersey and a phillies hat and eating a cheesesteak. I'm not the only one. Best city ever.
I just had to stop two people giving each other hand jobs in the pool. That was not something I was taught in lifeguard training
Oh they knew you from a bachelorette party! You were the pole?
Ohhh shit yeah that was me. Fuck. I hate myself when I do that.
Why do they give me cups on $8 pitcher night? I HAVE A PITCHER.
Just call Katie. She's like the drunk whisperer; she can get them to do anything.
so the photographer said "let's get a picture of the cousins" so we posed together, and then he said " lets get a picture of the couples" So we posed together.
pain. pain everywhere. this is why throwing yourself at concrete is a bad idea.
He picked up a chick with a line about the price of used cars in Sri Lanka and developing economies. Step it up.
It was like a square peg in a round hole... I've never seen one shaped like a stick of butter...
He offered to let her do a line of coke off his hard-on. She said she'd had that hard-on and it would be a bump, not a line. Everyone laughed. That's why he left.
So that answers the first question but not the second: how the fuck am I getting home?
Some toppless girl just walked past me in the hall and gave me half a carton of smokes. I have never been more aroused.
I am at a new level of appreciation for drunk-you, who threw up into her own sweatshirt pocket last night in the car. Brava.
I preemptively put on a cape before eating a bunch of weed brownies. Best decision ever.
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