The stoners next door have their couch on the sidewalk again, shirtless, soaking their feet in a baby pool and listening to loud ukulele music. I want their life.
Just found a "how to get laid" book on the dresser and am now a victim of method number 16 corollary 7.
I get way too drunk to be trusted with family heirlooms
He just yelled in the bar, "So I stuck it in two girls butts, why are you bringing that up now?"
She came to college a virgin and left on court order. We ruined her.
I remembered to bring wine in a nalgene bottle, but I forgot sunscreen and water. I'm starting to question my life decisions.
We're sitting in his room writing songs about America. There's a verse about a dead dog. There's tequila everywhere.
you can't tell me you didn't shit your pants I saw them in the trash can by the bathroom.
I cant shower it involves moving...
Just lay there and turn the water on. At least rinse off the shame.
You asked me if you could throw up in my shoe.
I don't want to sleep with anyone. I just want a burrito
I love him about as much as I'd love fucking myself with a cactus.
these past three weeks have been a real "fuck you" to my liver
We will discuss everything tomorrow i presume. Including the sweaty naked tango.
We live walking distance from the coors factory. no, we do not have a dry week.
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