and trust me i need no booty pop lessons
Tonight must have been good, I have already had two cups of coffee but still couldn't figure out how to operate a door.
I'm bringing poparts in case anyone gets hungry. The trek to frat row is strenuous.
I just got cut off for correcting the bartender's grammar. I should have never accepted that fucking editors position.
Why's my alcoholism being used to prove a point?
I really need to find better places to throw up. I would like to be able to use the bathroom sink the next morning for brushing my teeth
I walked into my room to see them crying, watching hey arnold, and passing a franzia box back and forth...
Of course he did. He is like the oprah winfrey for vaginas. Always giving that shit away.
Found trail of ibuprofen on ground. I'm like the intervention version of e.t.
All I know is I was dancing to Shakira in his alley and I think rubbing my junk on his car door.
Nothing like an alcohol-fueled, 6-hour-long hunt for weed--complete with occasional breaks for sex.
The best was when you were crying, and trying to get the bouncer to "understand you AS A HUMAN BEING"
Status: mom bitching about grandma not shutting the fuck up, while not shutting the fuck up. Dear Jesus give me strength or more bourbon.
When my parents ask, do you think "he was the cop I gave head to in order to get out of a speeding ticket" will suffice as to how we met?
It’s only loud for those who wanna get loud. The bowlers are protected.
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