Who pooed in my magic bullet?
Sorry the bathroom was being used.
If my nicknames are based on what I throw up, you can call me Jimmy Johns
you were smoking 3 cigarettes at once saying 'cancer isn't real! Its all in your head!'
I took the chef home. His dick even tasted like garlic
I had to carry you down because your legs weren't moving anymore but you were carrying the weights you stole from that guys room... and that's where the bruises came from.
It's now 3:30 and the guy I went home with is showering me with shredded cheese. Nbd.
I cried and ate like 6 tacos in the taco bell parking lot at almost midnight, sober, alone, listening to a demi lavato cd. And that was the good part.
Uh yeah. I ate a brick of cheese. Didn't even cut it. We were admiring the teeth marks I was leaving. We decided it was the negative of my mouth
I could only remember yelling "rip it down" as he ninja jumped off the bed, kicked the wall, and superman punched the fire alarm off the ceiling.
I've always wondered why you never put the hotel room in your name...
I was barred out and drunk as fuck locked out at 3am in my Indian costume. It was literally freezing outside. I laid down on the concrete and made a bonfire with dry leaves. Then proceeded to ask.the.bonfire nicely to "please dont go out". Drunk me went strait up survival mode.
We called dibs on each other's genitals. That bond is unbreakable.
Nothing says summer like lemonaid, but nothing says fuck yeah summer like lemonaid and vodkavodka
Well yeah. Plus. My dick looks awful. So I would need to do some extreme makeover dick edition before even starting something so ridiculous.
If I could go one week without being called a maneater or a spanish trolip that would be great.
The more time I spend surrounded by Mormons, the more I miss alcohol.
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