God dammit. Now I'm pissed at Arizona, while feeling bad for my poor, poor penis.
He made me a "booty call of the year" award.
I believe I won the Golden Vodka Bottle of sadness last night for crying while being party boyed.
I'm not trying to alarm you guys, but I think I just swallowed a ketchup packet.
You picked a jagger girl up claimed her then walked out the door with her that was the last we saw of you
If you're in the liquor store 5 minutes before close, and you have to ask the cashier for a coin to flip to make a life decision because "vodka takes you to a bad place," you need to reevaluate your life.
I realize it truly is impossible to burrow under the grass like a mole. Let's not drink for at least another 3 days.
Is it bad that I feel proud to be the first one to puke in the apartment? And I did it in style?
You straight up painted the counter with steak, tequila and beer. You owe me a knew toothbrush.
Brunch got away from me. I might be a little high.
Would 7 layered rainbow jello shots entice you?
Liquor doesn't fix sad, but it sure as hell lowers my standards for a rebound.
Just cried because I'm out of oreos. This post-molly depression can go fuck itself.
She's Jesus crazy. And one if not more other forms of crazy. She's 2.5+ crazy.
How do I un-spend everything I bought last night? Seriously...was a penis shaped piñata and enough tequila to fill my bathtub really that necessary?
At least you can say you've literally dumped money down the drain
Right before he dumped me... he got a really ugly pair of pants. They were twill pants. A pinkish color. When I'm sad... I picture him in them. It makes me smile.
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