I can't tell whether I'm throwing up blood or licorice.
When i asked him what happened all he said was, the toucan... the toucan... over and over again.
Let me just inform you of my purse contents right now. Three cum rags, a sock full of cum, xanax, and a fake moustache. This is my life.
Can we dedicate this weekends marathon sexcapades to all the haters?
I think I was using my hair to catch my vomit last night.
You were.
Your CAR. Is in a LAKE. I'd say "a big mess" is a pretty conservative description of the situation.
We fucked to showtunes. Never going out with a theatre major ever again.
While running home from the bar in high heels I multi- tasked and sexted with Brent. Jesus.
Ew. After that you just pretty much proved that your vagina is the reason why my vagina needs two toilet seat covers when peeing in public restrooms
I also think about what hot dudes penises are gonna look like when theyre 80 and it's not pretty
I don't know what to say to that. All I know is my vagina is trying to jump through the phone.
I bet the guy on the treadmill next to me with the noise-canceling headphones wishes he could trade them for smell-canceling noseplugs. Hard to believe that last one did not involve any pants-shitting on my part.
We smoked with this guy who looked just like Hyde from that 70's show in an alley. It was a divine moment in my life.
So I ate half a jar of mayo because I thought it would cure a hangover. I thought wrong.
He passed out in my car.
What's the problem?
HE'S STILL IN MY FUCKING CAR.
Randomize
