My grandmother just called to say she disowned me. Apparently I uploaded a video to Youtube of me dancing nude with a blow-up doll named Dorothy, last night. You are so fired from being damage control.
Those strippers last night smelled great. It was the perfect mixture of vanilla and daddy issues.
There's some strange man with hair that keeps talking to us. I'm scared.
This is how horror movies start. Going to bar with strange hair guy. He's paying. Bad idea?
Ditched hair man. Got free cab ride to market. Want food. I win.
Ive either hit rock bottom or become my own hero.
Seriously though, we're going to drink and watch Survivor first one to puke gets voted off the island
Isn't that the only thing she's good at? Complaining and blow jobs?
Can we please not be like these pathetic people in their thirties who only get drunk when they go see Sherrill Crow?
I think it was the free bomb shots from the creepy bolivians that sent us over the edge
I whispered "you're doing a great Job" when he was fucking me. Then high fived him.
Guys always stop talking to me right around the point that if they bought me food a couple times I would probably have sex with them.
To be honest I've become too lazy for the work involved in getting laid.
You run marathons and you're too lazy for sex? Priorities, man.
Touche.
What if he stabs me in the back, mid-orgasm, as I sit on his face? It'd be a miraculous way to go but that's not the point
Started crying to "that's the way it is" by celine. What the fuck uterus?!
So what if I got a tattoo on a bus, it was sterile.
I'm not getting off this floor. I love this floor
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