At least I can take solace in the fact that with 8 billion some odd people in the world, at least one of them is shitting in their own car right now.
Last night I got a napkin with 4 names & numbers: Katie, Ellen, Kylie...and Brandon.
I'm guessing "whatever I can get" wasn't the reply the nurse wanted when asking what med I need. Oh, and asked for a cartoon band-aid.
At least the cops kept you away from sleeping with her. Protect and Serve.
I don't know if I want to cry scream puke or go somewhere and drink more. This is such a weird emotion.
It just goes to show you, your dreams can come true. You can hook up with your dads hot married friend.
I can't talk to her. I know entirely too much about her genitals to hold a conversation without mentioning them.
I wasn't trying to be rude when I hurriedly walked past you, but I can not put in to words exactly how bad I had to shit.
I made friends with the delivery guy because he had beautiful dread locks and was a Zelda fan. He texted me after he left saying he wasn't trying to be creepy but we should be friends. We're hanging out tomorrow.
How does this kind of shit happen to you?!
Do you always skip to "Baby Got Back" when fat girls show up at the bar?
My actions are not mine. They are the actions of Patron.
At some point the phrase "I've hit rock bottom" stopped having a meaning and became my general state of life
we panicked because we couldn't find you anywhere, but then we found you tripping in the bathtub with Marie's cat. there was no water. you thought there was water, though.
...and with one comment dissing Hannibal Lecter, I suddenly understood why we never worked out.
I really just gave up on masterbating because I'm too tired. I really am getting old.
Randomize
