By the grace of god and the ingenuity of Alexander Graham Bell, this text message is made possibe: YOU ARE A WHORE
dont touch anything in my room. If its phallus shaped, i can almost guarantee its been in my vagina.
I feel like someone had their period in my eyes.
I'm sorry I got a little outta control last night.
I wanna die of smoke inhalation. In a huge teepee. Or one of those big things kids in kindergarten have that you throw up in the air then sit inside of.
I mean like, my liver will beg my brain for mercy. Brainll be like I'm Greg Jennings. Liverll be like I'm Darren Sharper. Brainll be like hold my diiiiick.
We're walking, taxis are a waste of money that can be spent on alcohol.
diet's not working. come over. i need someone to fuck the hungry out of me.
Most of my life can be described like an HBO prison drama.
I'm a lady. Ladies do NOT hump the floor.
Slammed 3 beers and just bowled a 129\nI guess alcohol IS the answer
You didnt text me.. I'm on your street with golf clubs
raging hangover at work with a lunchable dreaming of the sex ill never have. my life is perfect.
He gave us beer and shots and made us pizza in his brick oven before firing a handgun into the air to signal it was time to give us a ride in his inflatable raft to the bars.
He's like a mythological figure
Please come pick up your twin. She's tap dancing in her underwear and that's not how you want yourself represented.
Idk I just think that seeing that man's Twitter always resulting in me looking for the whiskey is a bad sign
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