I'm watching the Australian Open. They need to slow the fuck down. It's hard enough to follow sober and now it's just pissing me off.
He's doing the 1:45AM lap: he goes around the bar, finds the hottest crying girl 15 minutes before close, and brings her home. I would feel bad for the girls if it wasn't such incredible genius.
then my gynecologist said "its like opening up buried treasure"
And when he pulled me off the bathroom floor, he just looked at the cat litter stuck to my chin and said "oh sweetie" and shook his head. I think my dad's officially given up hope.
Don't byou dare ruin egg salad by putting your penis in it that would be so sad.
She sat on the stairs and yelled sex positions at us. I don't remember if we went along with it but judging by the beer and condoms I'm thinking yes.
I dunno... But she calls vodka "dancing juice"
I really just want to stuff him in my purse, take him home, feed him pudding or applesauce and brush his hair. That's not creepy, right?
It's like a squid of pain has attached to my head and it spreading it's whorey tentacles all over.
We found him in the backyard throwing shoes onto the roof yelling "WHO BRINGS CROCS TO A HOUSE PARTY?!"
Found my other fake eyelash. In a condom wrapper...
Oh and apparently Friday night I came home and tried assembling the Christmas tree until my mom just told me to go to bed. Blackout.
Drunk naked twister. My place. Heath is trying to use his dick as a third leg.
On way back. With a shopping cart. Minimal casualties.
Somehow, you looked so classy chugging that bottle of wine last night.
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