Dude sorry i couldnt seem to spell any words right in the texts i sent you last night
I felt like a fucking code breaker.
I am like the Mr. Miyagi of queefs.
To make up for the snow days we missed he's making us write a paper on alcoholism. It's like he knows.
Sitting in a bubble bath with my bong, how's your morning?
Lesbians are nicde people they do not take debit cards
Its all fun and games until someone grabs the electrical fence.
well that explains the french fry and ketchup packet rolled into the wasitband of my sweats. thank you drunk me.
I make your heart skip a beat like that pivotal moment when you open a public toilet lid
I've been randomly kik messaging bearded men I find on Instagram while sitting unshowered in my underpants. I'm like the girl version of a creepy uncle.
The cleaning lady even cleaned my bong. I'm scared to open my sex toy drawer and see if and how she organized it
The universe is cradling this hangover like a gay couple cradles their newly adopted chinese baby.
She's impossible to please. Other than with two fingers and a tongue.
like, you weren't just lying there, you were wrapped in what appeared to be the skin of a wolf, chanting doomsday prophecies
THE END IS NEIGH
Do not tell me I cant do drunk math ever again, AND I made a creative way of telling him I want him to fuck me.
The fact that I’m not married yet means there are millions of lucky girls out there who have dodged a bullet
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