PS- did you die? If you did just text "dead" to me, so that I know.
I think Charlie st. Cloud is the saddest thing I can masturbate to.
Malt liquor mondays...better in theory.
You'd think the neighbors would be used to grown men coming into my house drunk at 230 am.
I'm imagining a seal in an ugly shirt hahahahaha Percocet
this night may include but is not limited to : police encounters, wild animals, stomach pumping, and waking up in a field
Some guy Just sang about my ass on the street
It was terrible lyrics but I would have thrown my life savings into that guitar case if I had any.
Haha, how do I word that nicely? "You got me to the edge of no return twice and failed to let me orgasm, therefore you owe me chicken nuggets or hot wings. Your decision"
Nothing like the judgmental looks you get in the bathroom when you still have last night's glowsticks on
I feel like I got hit by a truck. And I vaguely remember getting into an argument with a passive aggressive Ron Burgundy in a onesie- grown man, not a baby- about the pronunciation of New Orleans
Self reach around competition is what the Olympics has been missing all along. A true test of athleticism.
If he has a beard, chances are, that’s an open invitation to sit on his face
I have dined. Now I want to get fucked.
Intoxication Level: I'm as graceful and flawless as a fucking dinosaur.
I got drunk off three vodka cranberry’s and told him to “WWE raw dog me.” Fucking kill me.
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