well we are all hammered and my parents are reminiscing about all the times they drove us home drunk from Christmas
we dont know what were doing after yet. first up we have 90 beers and a party kit and fun hats.
She was narrarating everything she did.. like while making toast.
I have beard burns on my inner thighs. I'd say last night went pretty well.
When she e-mailed me back asking for proof, complete with hospital intake records, I just told her it was a home-birth. I'm prepared to take the fail.
I just told you I can't. My fingers are melting. I have discovered the high.
I will not ride trays down a flight of stairs topless and drunk....
You hopped on the counter after puking, and told us you were wearing bare feet and didn't want to be alone.
It was one of those "wake up holding a random metal flower" kind of nights.
He's high as balls tripping balls and doing a reenactment of the scene where Buzz jumps off the balcony and can't fly to his soundtrack of Toy Story.
You do realize how pathetic it is when the woman who does your bikini waxes has seen your vagina more than I have
you were feeling the wall and when we asked you why, you just said "because I want to know who lived here before"
I forgot that places existed where drinking on Sunday is frowned upon. It's just so unreasonable.
I just crop dusted the hot FedEx guy delivering my business cards...then asked him "Was that you?" How the fuck am I allowed to be an adult?
This is the best 30th birthday ever. In a Motel 6 drinking a shower beer and sending slow-mo dick helicopter videos to you.
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