I did that thing again where I get way too drunk and go gay. Then wake up in the morning and freak out at the person. Yet another bar I cannot go back to
you called me at 4 in the morning to tell me that your toaster burnt your english muffin, and that you "fuckin hated that thing."
I still have your handprint on my ass. You're not allowed to ignore me yet.
He said my breasts were God's way of making up to him for all the shit he's had to endure in his life.
You can't have your penis and eat it, too.
I like you as a friend, but I'm in love with your dick.
The ideal thing to do next party is to tape my boobs down so they don't knock over the pong cups while playing defense. They came back to hurt us this time
I just want a whole pitcher of margarita and a headdress from party city and sit around and look like a fucking indian princess.
I forgot that places existed where drinking on Sunday is frowned upon. It's just so unreasonable.
Also I feel I should tell you last night when I came home I fell into my laundry hamper and woke up in a pile of my clothes
I got in an argument over whether or not I'm a slut. I argued yes.
We both knew it was over when I took a u turn at her belly button.
We're so high we're eating flavored lube.
Never let the horse trainer ride you, always ride the horse trainer. I have huge bruises on my thighs from his hip bones. That's how hard he rode me
I just described cereal to my mother as "acoustic breakfast soup".
who is this
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