There is something just so refreshing and wonderful about an uninterrupted morning poop in the office.
I'm going to an arts college, I live next to the frat houses, and my room number is 420. god has plans for me and I couldn't be happier.
just found a shoebox labled "emergency smoking box"... it has a lightbulb, 2 potatoes, a dried up flower, and a button that says "stop drop and roll". what did we do last night?!
you yelled "who's job is it to keep me from breaking shit" and then immediately ripped off the molding as you fell down the stairs.
Everything gets a little fuzzy after the flats of jello shots, but I do have a vague recollection of being at the top of a large human pyramid
Can you explain to me why I woke up with my hands tied to the hotel bed with the phone cord???
Hangover Status: I've been bedridden longer than that kid from The Secret Garden. It's not looking good.
I just tried to eat one of my ear plugs, thinking it was a cheese curl. I need it to be break RIGHT NOW.
I keep confusing the name of her and her dog. Both are appropriate.
As I type I'm climbing my cousins swingset so I can take a nap inside the slide. Fuck this hangover. I always win.
They ran out of ice at the party, so I fixed my drink with frozen broccoli....the show must go on!
Go big or go home. Or get a live in house boy you met 7 years ago and feel like you have unfullfilled potential. You know, the usual
Pre-chapter meeting quote: "Why is there a bun literally taped to the shelf? That doesn't even make sense when you're drunk, who does that?"
If I ever say "I'm never drinking again" just hand me a bottle of jack. I'll snap out of it.
Ahhh, the bane of our relationship.... His mediocre penis
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