So the last day on the vacation I woke up in the bath tub. My mom said she asked me during the night what I was doing and I said, "swimming."
I should just throw a hundred dollar bill into the wind and walk away... save myself the hangover.
but why does your life always sound like the plot of a porn?
The view from the bathroom floor this morning is fabulous
she wrote "need hug!" on a sticky note, put it on her back, and passed out on his bed. they're trying to figure out how she got into his room...
I just called my mom 'Napoleon bronaparte'. I need to stop hanging out with you.
We lost Kevin again. Probably kidnapped by fattie 2 or butter-face 2 from last night. We need names and any information you can give us. Last scene with his shoe laces converted into a belt.
Time to do stuff I know I'll have to hide from my grandkids one day and everyone at next weekends wedding.
No. And Marissa said shitting in the handicap bathroom at work does not get you into the club. You have to shit yourself. She said.
i'm currently connecting with my tribal roots aka i just found my recorder from 3rd grade music class... be ready for the recording
I've watched enough of my roommate's imported Japanese satellite to know when the exchange students are calling me a whore.
All I vaguely remember from last night is getting up on that nice mahogany table and debating about squirrel's rights
I got laxative. And a toothbrush. Because who wants to buy just laxative on a Friday night?
Happiness is having a 12 hour day thinking that there are only 2 beers in the fridge when you get home, but then finding 8. Fuck you Monday, this week I won.
the only joy I get out of her anymore is hitting on her friends and ignoring her. it's chaos for them. like shaking a slutty ant farm
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