It is pretty awful out and I still haven't put on pants yet.
I have way too many pictures of poop on my phone
Hindsight: maybe I should have included a few transitional texts in between talking about your son and my need to have sex. Do over?
I love when I'm alone in the house. It's like pants were never invented.
Just drunk tweeted NASA asking them to give me a lift home in one of their spaceships. Fingers crossed
Like. I probably should fuck him. I owe him for breaking his thumb.
Oh and I guess I added our cab driver on Facebook. He has "liked" every single one of my beach pictures. Kill me now.
Wouldn't it be fantastic if the corporate world cared less about about our GPA and focused more on our mastery of social drunkenness?
I love that my idea of a romantic gesture to you is to send you a picture of my vomit saying "wish you were here". You voluntarily dated me. For six years ish.
I definitely think in addition to buying paint ball guns this summer we should invest in a breathalyzer. That way every drunk night turns into a competition, who can blow over the legal limit more. The loser gets shot while hungover. Shit goes hand in hand if you ask me.
Sorry I disappeared. Do you hate me?
Not at all, did you not hear me clapping outside your car on our way out?
He serenaded me a cappella to Ed Sheeran. I wasn't going to leave his dick unsucked.
YO. MCGRIDDLES.
It's brunch. If you find dick at brunch. You an A+ hoe.
Give me like 5, I have to feed a moose and find my pants.
Randomize
