another moral hangover. fuck.
It's like my work doesn't even care about margarita mondays.
and i do it all in one night. I'm like santa but a whore.
You NEED to get fingered by a violinist. He used his left hand and make me cum, he's RIGHT handed.
May or may not have found my way onto a stripper bus. To Chicago.
The main two things I remember from last night is you "spanking Katey into reality" and watching her barf in terror.
So, this year for my birthday, want to get rip-roaring schmammered and watch my episode of my super sweet 16? We can do lines off my tiara.
How do we stop her downward spiral?
Wine. For us.
all of these bad things happened because I didn't bring a shower beer.
Scientific fact: if he makes a face like a demonic dog when he's fucking you, makes it easier to fuck without feelings.
my favorite part of this morning was sitting at the gynecologist smelling like cigarettes and wearing yesterday's clothes.
Woke up. Found about 20 condoms upstairs. A hole in the couch. Bread on the floor. Going back to sleep.
At a bar in the city and the whole place starting singing “Happy Birthday” to someone. Everyone but me. The person next to me leaned over and said, “Why didn’t you sing along?!?” I responded, “I don’t know him. I don’t give a shit if he has a happy birthday.”
I just convinced a telemarketer I live in a tree.
What did he say?
He still asked if I want a home security system.
Shame - the story of my life.
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