I drunkenly recorded an episode of Family Matters last night. I took a shot everytime Carl Winslow had a mustache.
i have absolutely no control over my now miserable and whore-ish lifestyle.
not my fault. i got her to believe he wrote an oasis song. he still managed to find a way to make sure no girl ever gets near his penis.
I am NOT getting arrested in a wig.
I'm a lady, I can't pee on the ceiling. Even I don't have that power.
So yeah she lost her virginity in a wheel chair with a broken pelvis. I'm still trying to figure out how I should feel about that.
I texted him that I wanted to be more than fuck buddies so when I came over he gave me a punch card. He takes me I dinner every 10 fucks.
I think I just wrote a poem about your penis but it was totally unintentional.
You came over, called every girl Comrade Heather, and then declared that you were an Eagle, and we were your young.
So all in all, a good night.
Also I've decided that I'm buying the next friend of mine who is dumb enough to get married a live porcupine as a wedding present.
I just got a get of my turf look from a hooker. Apparently, Ninja Turtles T-shirt+Jeans+Flip-Flops=Hooker Gear. Woot.
It's sad that I'm more proud of my Twitter account then my resume
I woke up to a bum peeing outside my window, and he said, "This is embarrassing for you."
Hey this is your roommate. You know the one that let you have sex with her while you called out your exs name and cried?
I have no recollection of that. You must have the wrong number. P.s. your thongs still on the ceiling fan.
We're getting a bucket of chicken and screwing around, so no, you can't join us.
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