Fun fact: when I ripped off my wristband, I punched myself in the face. Rad
Note to all middle aged "I totally let myself go after childbirth" frumpy mothers: I do not dress this way for your husbands. Stop looking at me like that. It's not my fault.
I woke up at 3am naked and stroking a watermelon.
You came back with four clearly unattractive women and wanted to throw a dance party in my room.
MEET ME OUTSIDE YOUR HOUSE IN THREE MINUTES. BE DRUNK. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
I feel like it'll be a success as long as she doesn't end up dead in a ditch. There has to be a line somewhere.
Until you find your self finger banging supergirl in the middle of the dance floor while her friends are passing around for luigi mustache for a photo op, YOU HAVE NOT HIT MY LEVEL
SIMBAAAA REMEBER WHO YOU ARE
Brian got his first ever blow job last night. We should make him a scrapbook.
But break dance skills will only take you so far
Like I owe him sex. Hell fucking no. I owe myself sex. With a celebrity. Or a clean pornstar. Who knows.
My cat just smacked my blunt from my hand and then put her head in my hand. I don't know how to feel
I masterbated to his instagram page. Too far or....?
Just as an add on, don't expect me to wear matching bra and underwear. If I do, I'm probably drunk and it's your fucking birthday. Have a great night.
If we both don't have awesome filthy sexual experiences to share in the morning...we are no longer best friends.
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