I tried to go shot for shot with some guy called "shit show martinez"
So even though we broke up apparently according to my voice mail you still like me, with smurfs while riding on a boat.
You were like pukeahontas last night, you tried to tell us you were okay, then you puked in the garden.
You got cut off after you tried to make the dog funnel moscato.
I totally just found ecstasy floating around in the bottom of my purse, it's almost like good karma from the time I lost that blow...but not quite
my mouth is as dry as a post-menopausal camel on antidepressant's vagina.
Normally I would go for him, but there's just way too much vodka under the bridge for that
I slept with an Israeli and a Palestinian in the same day. It feels wrong.
I'm standing at the bottom of the driveway w a sign that says plow me
Trying to take a nap and my brain decides to play "lets have flashbacks every time you blew it with a chick in college". It's a montage of stupidity and youthful inexperience. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
You rope them in with the looks and the boobs, and I'll bore them into submission with random trivia. We can't lose.
Neighbour is sobbing. Difficult to masturbate.
the wedding party just walked in to the song eye of the tiger. i'm getting drunk.
Vagina status: the swelling is going down.
I added our drug dealer to the quickbooks software babe, he is listed under vendor's as an expense category... money management is such a bitch...
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