well..after leaving the bar you handed me your wallet and said you didnt need it cause you were going to find the cash cab and added 'i'll see you on tv'
Okay so if I'm going to keep referring to my hangover in the third person it needs a name.
two words: fractured penis. two more: emergency room.
I passed out on my porch last night. I'm still making it to class. This is what growing up means.
Just pure bliss will emerge from Charles, my tranny bong.
Nothing like an old fashioned, wine fueled, anxiety-cry in the shower to start off finals week.
It's 6 a.m. ... what the hell.
Tried to make out with a statue, turns out it was a person.
Also- bikini mowing was a horrible idea. One truck just drove by 3 times, turning around at the end of the block each time. My tan may be better for it but my conscience has been raped.
The best part about passing out on the floor was the fact that when I pissed myself, I didn't piss the bed again.
I'm really high and I'm watching this show where Gordon Ramsay goes to other people's restaurants and just yells at them about things.
They invented a new game at work. Its called guess if I'm baked, hungover, drunk, or some combination of the three. Its surprisingly very difficult..
Nothing says "back to school" like walking in the first day with a hangover
We're ordering chinese food so if you want to get on this obesity train answer me now.
The worst thing about buying this extremely comfortable bed is that once I get a girl into it, all she wants to do is sleep. I want my fucking money back.
Chicks dig it when you smell like bong water and frebreeze.
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