i study at coffee shops because all these damn artsy people motivate me to work towards a real job.
the Monday before Thanksgiving is not a Monday at all. Just Thursday in Monday suit.
I didn't know there was such thing as a bad orgasm. Until him.
Take this only to mean that we love you, but we're having a serious, half-hour, hypothetical discussion about how far we think we could throw you.
She gives me Chlamydia and somehow I'm still the asshole
gave you a haircut while you slept. Please don't kill me.
OH. MY. GOD. FUCK HIM. JUST GRAB HIM AND FUCK HIM.
Hahah what did you even say to him?!
That I was gonna inflate his vagina with a leaf blower?
Oh.
Found my underwear in a solo cup. That about sums up this weekend.
It was all going fine until I had to chug that strawberita bud light. That really ended badly.
Am I not being subtle enough by giving him a rainbow striped bong, during PRIDE MONTH?
I really shouldn't have to tell you to stop banging your lightsaber on everything while we are in college.
Running my fingers through my hair is like that scene from Patch Adams where the girl goes swimming in a pool of spaghetti. I love molly.
After walking ten blocks barefoot in Boston I've concluded drunk me needs to make better decisions.
Somehow my family started talking about sex toys at breakfast.
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