You don't get off work for this? I feel genuinely bad for you.
I'll have a beer when I get into the office. Yes, I hide beer in my work frige.
Drunk x Brooklyn = problems getting home. If I don't make it you can have my computer and my bitches. You're welcome.
morning outfit: hottub soaked skirt. no underwear. someone's bandanna worn as a shirt. took me an hour to walk home. this isn't fun anymore.
Apparently Chef Boyardee is the only guy I'm taking home tonight.
Beer coozy in the gym. Don't judge me.
after the shots you kept on yelling "this is for the dreamers"
If we don't rescue him from the fat chick soon, she is going to eat him alive and suck the marrow from his bones.
By cross-referencing our messages & her Twitter feed, I've deduced that she was eating spaghetti the whole time we were sexting.
I woke up to pizza pinned to my wall. So that's that.
I don't give a shit if you judge. This isn't about you or anyone else. This is about me and my chicken tenders.
If there was a category for "most likely to end up a serial killer" in your high school yearbook then I'm sure you would have won it
Mid-fucking he screams "YOU CAN'T VOTE FOR TRUMP"
FUCK WHALES
I deleted your number after I found out you gave my brother head for drugs.
We're hate flirting, damnit.
Randomize
