Dude sorry i couldnt seem to spell any words right in the texts i sent you last night
I felt like a fucking code breaker.
I will show your tits more attention than Michael Jackson's death.
I can practically hear my vag and my conscience fighting.
GOING OUT OF BUSINESS: we're having a foreclosure party tonight...We'll also be raffling off a washer/dryer, microwave and a white tiger head.
I have a meeting at work in an hour, I'm so hungover going outside is NOT happening there are roads and shit I'll totally get myself killed.
You can wear my underwear. It'll be like old times.
I blame it on the rum. It keeps jumpng doqn my throst.
dude, I convinced you I was your conscience for like 15 minutes last night. you weren't just "a little high"
I hope dressing like a sexy, but very grown up and intelligent, secretary while out shopping helps disguise how high I am right now.
Do you think I could use my teacher of month Award to get free drinks?
So...I maybe walked across campus last night with my life size Joe Biden cut out.
Need advice bro. Which one should I take: the blonde devil crying in the corner or the brunette crawling on the floor acting like a dinosaur??
Please god tell me you aren't pregaming your date alone.
I'm fine. Heading home now...crying. Michael Bolton totally understands me!
The night went downhill somewhere between the time I was triple fisting smirnoff and when I was throwing up in the yard in nothing but my bra while he talk to me about mashed potatoes
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