Memo to the bitch sitting across from me at Swamp: no one thinks you're classy with your Louis Vuitton and your Burberry scarf when you're dragging on that cig like it was the last cock on earth and you needed cum for sustenance.
only you would photoshop your dick
All I remember is yelling RUN as fireworks started going off in the kitchen. Who said that was a bad idea?
We tried to get a ride from the same firefigters that were turning off the fire alarm going off at our house.
I turn the corner to find her walking in the front door in a tee-shirt, two different shoes and no pants. All she said to me was "I'm sad"
then she said she was half-a-virgin and that she would appreciate it if i would finish what her old booty call started
good news: I made it out of bed and into shower. Bad news: I made it back to bed without clothes. Worse news: I don't know this bed.
I'm not drinking cause I'm like 4 vodkas away from a boom box and Peter Gabriel.
That's not a funny feeling. That's hepatitis. You got it from that bar where everything was sticky.
Trying to figure out the logistics of putting my laptop speakers on this plate with the last slice of pizza. Too drunk to move the plate. Not an option.
The people at subway are so judgy when you stop to get a sandwhich on your walk of shame
I told him to come over when I realized that I did have time for a quick booty call before church.
so.. please tell me you did not really sleep on the washing machine last night
guilty
No we didn't talk. I was high and doing naked yoga in the living room when she walked in so it was just awkward. I didn't even know my dad had a girlfriend.
His junk had piercings everywhere. The dick and balls. It was a fucking pirate penis.
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