The shirt is mine, the pants are mine, the bra not so much
I climb out of my sunroof. I mean its kind of embarrassing but part of me feels awesome and ninja like.
They're donating plasma together for extra money. Couple of the fucking century.
Dude, we're at Einstein's Bagels and the dude next to us is spreading cannabutter on his bagel.
HOW DID U BEAT A GAY GUY IN GAY CHICKEN?
Well, I'm off to go seduce a gay man. In 10 years when I'm 300 pounds, sitting in a mumu surrounded by my 500 cats, remind me of this text. That way I can be like "ohhh THERE'S where I went wrong!!"
What's worse: not calling my parents in Dallas to make sure they're alright or not taking shelter to masturbate all over my douchebag roommates clothes?
I worry about you.
you know i have almost 1500 fb friends but not ONE drunk booty call?
Sloppy and selfish. Your 27 and you don't know where my clit is? BYEEE
I'm wearing sunglasses around my house. Douchebag status. The hangover is real.
Pretty sure when I woke up the next morning we were still fucking. It just didn't stop.
While he was at a job interview yesterday, I was dropping acid. So that's the aesthetic of our relationship rn.
Apparently karate chopping the fronts off all the paper towel and soap dispensers in the bathrooms isn't even frowned upon. Like even at the third bar when I fell flat on my back trying to jump kick the last one some guy just helped me up and high fived me. America.
last night is slowly putting itself back together. Its one giant slutty puzzle, all the pieces are covered in tequila and shame.
While finding our clothes afterwards he says..."So do we like have to talk after this?"
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