i've noticed that whenever i have to ask myself "would i be doing this if i was sober?" the answer is probably no.
May or may not have found my way onto a stripper bus. To Chicago.
vaguely remember the bartender stopping me outside last night so he could pull the duct tape out of my hair
On a scale of one to everyone dying I say let's aim for a 7
Its only fair we share our golden vaginas with the world. It would be selfish if we didn't.
Take my keys. Load me into the vehicle. Drive. Get food. Come back. These are my demands.
We haven't even moved into the apartment yet and she has already screwed two of our neighbors. This is going to be the longest 12 month lease of my life.
I can't come tonight. Someone took a shit in the dressing room. A.) Clean it up or B.) Kill myself. Text back with your answer.
my vagina can't take this anxiety. there is no way he is 19 and this smooth. he's lying about his age or he's a goddamn sexual prodigy
I forgot I did whipits. Probably because my brain cells were killed from the whipits
Really stoned me is having a very serious, intent conversation with my mom about egg rolls and koolaid flavors.
I don't think I've ever met a guy with a bush bad enough that I would choose a cactus over it.
He is more interested in finding his sweater than he is in having sex with me. It better be a great fucking sweater.
He got in a shopping cart outside of home depot and insisted we push him down a flight of stairs. For science.
you're welcome to come here, except my beds from ikea so it's more unstable than i am
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