I called the bartender Mr. Intoxication last night. He thought it was funny until i threw up and blamed it on him
mrs. f**** your sons in jail, if you can help with bail please respond, if not please dont tell him i told you.
Is it obsessive that I keep picking my crazy sex rug burn scab so it leaves a scar I can remember him by?
All I'm saying is that whoever owned the wheelchair clearly didn't need it or they wouldn't have been able to leave it there
I feel eeeverything like there's a rhythm and everything can be felt w/o ever touching it. And it's beautiful. Sunshine or raindrops it's like orgasming. Everything has a taste.
Dude. There's gotta be an article in Cosmo about it cause I've had three different girls tongue tickle my brownie this month.
So the old dude that tried to fight me is definitely Katie's dad. And the pot cookie's kicking in. Shit is getting weird.
Feels like someone put a cigar out where my butthole used to live
Also I've decided that I'm buying the next friend of mine who is dumb enough to get married a live porcupine as a wedding present.
I am on my usual post-jerkoff high of eternal happiness. Like I could punch a fucking tiger.
Plus who wants to live somewhere tom jerked off? No one.
Not really how I planned to achieve immortality, but I'll take it.
the bouncer just handed me a Starbucks bag of pound cake
Someone drank my pedialite!
YOU drank your pedialite. I watched you chase shots with it!
You know you've hit a new slutty low when you're simultaneously sexting and having a tea party with a 4 year old
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