i may or may not be hanging out with a boxer who has a daughter tonight. and he just spelled "honestly" like "onistly". He has prob taken a few too many hits to the head but he's hot at least.
So shortly after drunk sex...she starts crying and saying..." you don't care about me, you never do anything nice for me" so I called her a cab
I woke up covered in my own vomit with a pocket full of napkins. I guess I knew I would need them, but was not coherent enough to use them before passing out.
My main thought on the Olympics: I need LESS cowbell.
It wasn't a wasted relationship. I got road-head in an Escalade. I still keep that with me.
also. he gave me a foot massage during 69ing when i got a cramp. he's a winner.
I thought he wouldn't talk to me again. You know, what's that saying "why buy the cow when you can fuck it six hours after meeting"
You wouldnt be able to explain the can of green beans in my mailbox, would you?
I lost it last night. That was humiliating. Cincinnati is now covered in my puke.
That's the girl I met who was peeing on the driveway with me. We bonded
Ok but if you die you have to get "I should've listened to Mike" carved into your tombstone
the guy sitting next to me at the bar has a patrick swayze tattoo hovering over a roast beef sandwich. 'merica.
I'm surprised I don't have a permanent face imprint between my boobs.
And anyway at least being paid in opium makes a cool story
I snapchatted him 4 pictures of me as Tarzan's dad so if he never talks to me again at least we'll know why
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