I just told my doc I would like to talk about my drinking problem, but that it would probably get in the way of my weekend plans.
he woke me up at 3 am to ask me where my plunger, a towel, and staples were. i'm afraid to go into my bathroom.
I fucking love fucking science majors-- she told me that she wanted to know if her gag reflex got better or worse with alcohol, and that her initial evidence had been inconclusive. So, next few weeks, yeah, gettin blown periodically. All I have to do is keep a log.
she's laying in my bed with an ice pack on her vagina. how do you think it went?
That's why she's the girl with her life together and you're the girl with the penis drawn on your car.
on a related note, did you know that the fire alarm in our apartment talks?
Tip of the day: Don't ever send a bootycxall at 3 in aftnoon. No one will respond n u'll just feel fooolish.
He needs a high five right to the fucking mouth. With a chair. Or an atomic bomb.
I've got beer and a bag of saltwater taffy and croutons, is that enough for this typhoon thing?
I'm so busy i barely have time to have sex with myself. I have to talk myself into it like an old married couple.
i'm teaching a bunch of people how to grow weed over snapchat. no shame.
DUDE FUCK CALL ME SHE HAS GRANDKIDS
I'm armed with nothing but $4 lip gloss gum and my phone. Ready to take on the fucking world.
Nice people suck dick too. I'm proof.
Ur creepiness is now affecting my life and I'm not okay with it
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