My face smells like last night's lay. I need a whore bath. Or a corndog.
i wonder what thom yorke's orgasms sound like
TRUE LIFE: my roommate is growing a bush.
better yet, TRUE LIFE: my roommates boyfriend begged her to grow a bush.
I believe I won the Golden Vodka Bottle of sadness last night for crying while being party boyed.
Girl just walked into the bar with a T-shirt that says "I'm not Irish, kiss me anyways." Target aquired.
She asked if I could convince him so shave that shit off his face so he'll have a snowball's chance in hell of getting laid.
My week is over as of 8pm tonight, and I'm herpes free...Let's rage
Much like Dre, I was forgotten about.
note: just because the casino is called bourbon street, it doesn't mean you can puke and keep walking and no one will care. chalk me up for another 86
There's times when I need to be plowed... and I'm ashamed to admit auto correct was able to predict that entire sentence.
I don't really want to talk about it, but if anyone finds my unicorn mask with my bra in it, I would really like that back.
Literally had a conversation with the pizza as to why it was a bad idea to reach in the back seat and grab a slice while driving. The pizza was right, it was safer to just wait until I got home.
Casually blacked out last night and apparently told him he couldn't come back to bed until he got me Taco Bell.
He drove over an hour to get this shit done. I guess i win the golden vagina award tonight
It was a fun night. I made out with the door guy at the gay bar but he didn't speak english
There was no door guy at the bar
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