I texted him about a book we both like. I was expecting a "ya great book... let's bone" response. It didn't work
so i woke up this morning covered in mail. none of it is mine.
"Hung over, tired and having a faint scent of some body butter and random pieces of glitter from a girl named gigi, almost arrested in drug bust, $40 Canadian in my pocket and all i got was this lousy Tshirt" shirts dont exist, but they need to
Sketchest drug deal yet.... I just got paid in quarters and chucky chesse tokens. I need to stop hooking my friends up.
I mean, I don't even call it a hangover anymore. It's just morning.
Remind me to tell you the one about the cashier that wouldn't sell me Jim Beam and NyQuil.
As I am reading this. I'm standing in my underwear eating taquitos. I'm saying this in the most loving way possible: FUCK OFF.
I'm just going to say , cocktail races are not for a Wednesday night maybe not even a Friday type of deal
remember when I told you about my grandma asking me about my sex scars? Less comfortable than that
Piecing together the sordid story from witness accounts and photographic evidence, courtesy of Fcebook. My night included Mojitos, lighting the bar on fire and declaring myself the Queen of Nerds when I stole someone's flashing tiara. Woke up this morning with a velvet cape and plastic scepter to match. Mojitos are awesome!
I cried singing "call me maybe" on the way home from the bar. What the fuck
Im gunna just be that one ballerina in the low V leopard thong leotard and everyone else can be boring and prude with their little pink tights on.
Yes, I have your ice luge mold. I'll do a prisoner exchange for the beer bong
We all have to be good at something. Mine are writing, drinking, fucking and peer pressure.
I just had a great idea for an etsy shop. Sell all the shit bitches leave from one nighters
Randomize
