I just wanted to draw pictures of limp wieners on peoples doors and smash pictures of palm trees. That's it.
I think I slept in the cheesecake last night. Either that or I had a wet dream. Whatever happened I need to wash my pants.
Somehow me showing up to/breaking into her house only to find I was a week early for the party became a night of weed cookies and sex.
Because selling drugs to kids never goes out of business. We get older, they stay the same stupid.
I've woke up in his bed 4 out of the past 6 mornings. I feel like this might be the time to learn more about him then his first name and what kind of beer he drinks.
I haven't been motivated enough for a shirt. And only half the day was bra-worthy.
There's cereal in my underwear. Was I in your apartment at any time last night? That's the only logical explanation for this.
We knew we were dealing with a pro when some random guy at the bar thew you over his shoulder and you still didn't spill your drink
Strangely enough, that's not the first time that's happened
Shirley Temple died. We owe it to her to get dirty shirley wasted.
The three of us were sitting silently in my dining room at 4:30 am, half drunk, eating cold spaghetti and listining to death metal. I need a fucking cigarette.
Don't tell him that you hope he dies in a boring missionary position with his wife. That doesn't go over well.
Started mixing booze directly into the 2 liters and carrying them around. Mixing less often, and now kind of weightlifting,so double effecient.
He fucked me in one of the back rooms at the club then gave me an altoid. I have mixed feelings about it still.
I'm gonna write a book entitled "when you give a cop a cookie..."
I don't even want to know.
It feels weird going to sleep without hugging the toilet goodnight
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