it wasn't lemon gatorade
plans for tonight: dress up like pirates, drink a bottle of mad dog and watch the sorostitues across the street get naked. and yes, the mad dog part is already in play. hurry the fuck up. i look like a loser doing this alone.
I shall celebrate this moment with a beer conveniently located in the sock drawer directly to the right of me.
I'm 90% sure a girl here is wearing a bra strap as a headband.
i crunched every chip from the dorito bag and poured it in the vase. never again will i have to deal with cool ranch fingers.
i'm pretty sure i just ruined some dude's romantic riverside sunset proposal by running outside and puking in a bush.
woke up with the bag of wine duct taped to my shoulder.
All right cuz right now I'm in one of those moods where the shear thought of doing anything more strenuous than making a sandwich has me wanting to curl up in the feeble position and splash around in a puddle of my own tears.
I got drunken sympathy for the whales' plight last night and signed up to give $50 monthly to Greenpeace. Calling to cancel was worse than the hangover.
Hear that? That's the wail of a dying whale. Murderer.
We are trying to penis chicken awkward them out. But I think it's a gay wedding. Backfiring. Heavily.
Can I even tell you how badly I want a day that is just on and off napping and sex with intermittent snack breaks? Because I want that day very badly.
I have never seen a more amazing text message in my entire life.
Shit on my own feet while puking from my hangover. Is this what 33 is supposed to be like?
Crying on the toilet and taking a shit. This is what being an adult is about
His mom said he was in the ER and asked for prayers and positive thoughts. Apparently, me wishing the clap on him is not what she had in mind.
It's only funny because he thinks you had sex with him to rob him.
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