Sometimes I wonder if we could be friends if we lived closer.
at one point last night, you were literally auctioning me off. "reeeally drunk hot girl ! we'll start the bidding at an ice cold corona. oh, we have a bidder! do i hear a shot of whiskey? going once, going twice.."
youre welcome
Well then I realized I had a bigger problem when I woke up a long board.
You filled up my voicemail with a slurred but graphic depiction of how you were humping a fire hydrant.
I can get head just about anywhere nowadays so that's not much of an incentive, coffee on the other hand...
In all seriousness, if tomorrow night becomes a heated game of Which Ex Gets To Take The Plastered Birthday Girl Home, I'm going to bow out with my integrity intact.
No we are not "bros" because I came out of my moms vagina& you went in there.
You made me drive your car so you could give the dude from the parking lot a BJ in the back seat. Classy.
My day in three words: secret purse cake
The nun costume is coming back hard and it still has glitter and the smell of Vegas on it.
Best. Text. Ever.
Moral of the story: fuckboys never change
Well my normal tinder strategy of "Will I have sex with her when I'm sober" has been paying off
Grandma's bordering on serious shit show territory at this point.
He tried to brush a hair off my cheek, but turns out it was just a freakishly long chin hair. So no, we didn't bang.
Pumped to get "pass out-wake up in Berlin-buy a chinchilla" drunk?
Randomize
