Conclusion from last night: Sometimes being classy isn't as fun as making out with a guy on a pooltable in a bar. Happy birthday, Canada.
Pooping in your heated bathroom to the sound of rain and instrumental guitar might be the greatest experience ever.
Theres someone in the car behind me eating corn on the cob & talking on the phone
dude i feel like at any given point 3/5 of that family is trying to fuck you
If the blowjob was before the wedding, we're not technically related, right?
like the only thing i remember is bringing a piece of toast to the bar...
And the horses in Central Park have blankets. And Rafiki just told me "it is time" in the back of our cab.
I just remembered that I did shots out of a gay mans crotch. And there's someone saved in my phone as "Miranda knows where my car is"
I'm going to keep a tally of how many lives I ruin this summer. Starting today.
Already at 3 and it's not even noon.
They don't even know who I am but they just woke me up with maracas and invited my boobs to a kegger
I'm drinking and working out! I'm bench pressing the beer pong table and doing push ups and lifting the chair.
my balls were so many shades of blue last night I could have used them as paint and replicated the entirety of Picaso's blue period. The girl was an art major I feel like this metaphor is appropriate.
I'm just going to take a nap and hope I wake up more attractive.
I feel like a dancer trapped in the body of a math instructor. Love, Mom
Last night you were throwing up in my toilet singing "all by myself."
Randomize
