It is pretty awful out and I still haven't put on pants yet.
It's just you. You wear the fuck me fedora and wear baller shorts, hollywood hippie who thinks she is shakira when she's drunk.
what the fuck were we smoking when we had a conversation about how my brother would be so proud if i fucked an orange alien?!?
I woke up at 4am on the couch with half my clothes on. And by half my clothes I mean my earrings.
Explain to me how it was that you spent the entire night playing pool with three lesbians and did not get a foursome out of it.
Ask if he wants his tooth back. It's in the freezer. In the box of hotpockets.
I mean, I'm not looking for prince charming. I'm looking for the glass slipper of dicks.
He was dressed in a pink dressing gown feeding people ketamine from a plastic sword he called Excalibur. how was your Monday?
It wasn't until like 4 and when we got off the phone you said god was summoning you back into the bar
Chasing shots with sriracha-covered mini toast was, in retrospect, not the best idea.
At this point, just throw that mattresses away. Or bronze it and display it as a testament to your shame. either is good.
I was so stoned last night I got into an argument with your voicemail message.
I've orgasmed four times in the past 24 hours. And my mom's dropping off cookies later
She has also never texted me first which I think might be a tell-tale sign she wants me to die alone.
He just sent me a picture of multiple chickens eating in his kitchen... should I be worried
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