Please forgive me. I will pay for your emergency room visit.
Dude. Creed is coming in september.
We're no longer friends.
Wait wait wait. I remember riding in her car to the next bar. On your lap. With my head on the dashboard. That probably should have been my cut off point.
The last thing I remember is ordering two Martinis while yelling 'CAN YOU PUT THAT IN ONE GLASS?'
His fuck buddy just got fake tits and wants him to 'come break them in.' I need his life.
Drunk puking in my bathtub has plugged it up for the third time this year. I hate these calls to my landlord.
You stood outside his house all night throwing your sister's leftover Easter eggs and singing 'now you're just somebody that I used to blow'
I feel like this is the moment of high where you have to write these texts down to remember to text them and feel that somehow this is important to the continuity of the world.
I sliced my fucking arm open last night after margarita madness and had to drive myself to the ER. Got six stitches and a social worker came in and asked if I was abused due to my sex bruises. I literally had to tell her "don't worry, I like it rough"
This taxi driver is not happy I am in drag
I just remember lots of butts and something about ranch dressing.
You are the human incarnation of a drinking problem
Sunday morning breakfast with the boyfriends family. I just puked in the stall at Cracker Barrell. Classy.
Soooo you're telling me you support us groom's men giving lap dances to willing patrons?
Now all my porn is stored in my parents’ basement. It’s like a part of my soul is boxed up
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