Regardless of the degree, it's probably not good to relate so closely to the Steve-O documentary.
this morning i woke up under the kitchen table. i went to my room and there was an inflatable whale in my bed with a banana duct taped to where its penis should be. there were trails of cheez-its around my apartment and i found $67 in the crotch of my underwear. im guessing i had a very happy birthday.
You tipped the bathroom lady $20 and then yelled "IT'S YOUR LUCKY DAAAAAAAY" at her.
I just got cut off for correcting the bartender's grammar. I should have never accepted that fucking editors position.
Whats the count minus fat chicks?
Is it weird that out of everything, Im most worried about chipping a tooth on his prince albert?
someone just sent me a bong wrapped in christmas paper in the mail. signed 'santa'.
If it carries over into the weekend I would be glad to nurse your vagina back to health.
There's puke on my pillow. I'm still wearing my wedges. And I have a cab drivers number clutched in my fist.
I am compiling a playlist that reminds me of all my best sexual encounters. It shall be called THE MUSIC OF MY VAGINA'S PEOPLE
We were coming but I found wine on my way out the door.
So I'm not dead, but close call. I think I can handle one more bar.
and than he said 'I did amateur porn for a while' and I just knew tinder did not fail me this time
I need to start using my boobs for good instead of weed. Although really they're kind of the same thing
It's not a hangover, it's "slept on a couch with another person and said person moves a lot and is loud"
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