My body has become completely dependent on Text Twist. I can't poop without it.
Too bad my thesis topic isn't "defining a hot mess: a study in drinking, smoking and other bad life decisions."
bad decision 37: pregaming the antique store
I would have rather watched a full length video of myself masturbating than heard that.
He told everyone he was freezing their keys so they couldn't drive drunk. When I opened the freezer this morning, my keys were at the bottom of an unfrozen ice cream tub of vodka.
So I vote that we skip the bowling and just go straight to destroying our livers.
It was one of the greatest weekends of my life. And that's even after factoring in spraying myself in the face with the bidet.
There were grown college boys running around north campus in capes with nerf guns. If security were to be called I think they would just give them more beer.
All I see when I think of you are dancing penis angels around your head.
So bored. I think I've expelled every last gram of jizz from my body.
She has this wild look other eyes like she wouldn't be afraid to commit a felony.
So I deleted all the text from my phone, was looking for my mom's coffee order and show the coffee guy the pic of me eating pussy.
Can you come get me? I woke up in the woods behind the Super 8. I have pizza.
I woke up in his closet, with my shirt inside out and backwards, Rolos in my hand, a tortilla with a face carved into it stuck to the fridge with a magnet, a homemade bong next to the bed, and the door off the hinges... I need a chaperone.
I think I should write my liver a thank you note. If it had my work ethic, I would be dead now.
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