theres bread in your mailbox im going to eat it
nevermind its newpaper
By the end of the second bowl I was making sound effects to every hand movement he made.
Yeaaah, so cabbie laughed at me, and said, "rough nite? Let me find you some music" . apparently OPP is the appropriate ride of shame soundtrack.
I woke up naked dangling by my feet from the balcony over his foyer. He's officially my new favorite booty call.
In order of importance: Where am I? Where's my car? Where are my clothes? Who is this chick in the room?
Anne's couch, the bar, your car, Anne.
I don't get hangovers. Except once. And there is a massively epic story behind that, involving so much alcohol I should have died, and 13 raw hotdogs.
I bought something for you today. You'll love it.
What is it? Drugs?
I can't remember much from that party after we snapchatted my dancing boobs to all of her contacts
It's time to run my sex life like a basketball team. Got the lesson Clint!
I want you to know that the guy who peed in your bed got fat.
Do you guys think there will be a coke-for-Molly barder at bonnaroo?
We're meant to be. Apparently God wants me to get dicked down pretty good too so I'm not complaining about destiny
I will find, mount, and marry that person.
Just called to hear your voice and talk about pizza.
Everyone has seen your nipples. It's like asking if they ever walked on grass. You need better hangover questions.
Randomize
