On a scale of one to Chris Brown, how angry are you?
On my arm I have 12 dashes, and below is written "plus 2 pretty stout whiskey drinks, so, you be the judge"
I really don't understand how I cannot figure out how to work a fucking can opener when I'm hungover. Yet I still retained the ability to take a perfectly symmetrical picture of my erect penis and send it to every person in Matt's contacts the night before.
I couldn't find the bathroom last night...so I wrapped myself in the curtains and stuck my butt out the window and peed from two stories up. Thank god I don't remember.
And then we made hashbrowns with vodka and queso.
Did I change midway through last night?
Seven times. The most notable outfits were UFC Fighter and Top Hat Viking
I just recorded myself pooping, then uploaded to google drive, then connected to my pc through teamviewer then downloaded it, then played it to the living room while still pooping. God I love the internet.
Stormed out of the house in frustration and now I'm in public and have to take a rage dump. Today sucks.
He thought you were kidding about me peeing on my ex...and then I was like "that was one time"
my balls were so many shades of blue last night I could have used them as paint and replicated the entirety of Picaso's blue period. The girl was an art major I feel like this metaphor is appropriate.
Sex should not remind me of how baby birds get fed
Why do I have "apologize to Dave Coulier" written on my hand?
I don't know what's worse. The fact that my biological mother is an unwitting bigamist, or the fact that my half sister is trying to seduce my girlfriend.
i'm at work, alone, drinking a spiced chai & fireball hot toddy. holiday OT isn't that bad after all.
I woke up and couldn't find her. She had somehow managed to get into the closet and lock herself in. She was crying for her boyfriend. Thirsty Thursday at its finest
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