It's just you. You wear the fuck me fedora and wear baller shorts, hollywood hippie who thinks she is shakira when she's drunk.
I'm going to write a book about John. It's going to be called big dreams, little dick
Oprah is sooooo fat. I can't even concentrate on Mackenzie Phillips talking about banging her dad
hey everyone... booty call? my house tonight. bring friends to fuck my friends.
Apparently I did my philosophy paper last night. It's not bad either.
I took both his daughters virginities. There's no way he won't give me a job
Dude. Get me out of here. I'm surrounded by glitter-faced 40 year olds in halter tops. The desperation here is so thick you can taste it.
Only you would have to block the fucking governor of Tennessee from reading your tweets
As an added realisation of today. If we used the last time I got laid as a conceiving date I would have a two week old baby. It's been too long...
I'm just gonna stay I'm bed where it is warm and cozy and nobody knows me as the girl that puked on a stripper
Forgot to tell you--the bartender at Crowbar set his arm on fire last night. He was doing this "Cocktail" bartender trick of pouring alcohol that was on fire between glasses. Then some leaked out, onto his arm, and set his arm on fire, then his shirt. Exciting! (And he's ok).
There is nothing quite so pathetic as sitting in bed in your underwear eating easy mac in complete silence, waiting for Netflix to load
Typing up notes at the bar and doing shots with the bartender until close on a Wednesday. This is what my second year of law school has become.
I got drunk and bought a house last night. Also, I threw up on Mike's lawn. I'm pretty excited about one of those two things.
All I heard was "sit on my face" "okay" and muffled screaming. I'm still disappointed.
Randomize
