home. puking in laundry basket.
HOnestly. That's my one goal for this whole trip. I don't give a shit about souvenirs or sand. I want penis.
I am drunk at a castle and it isn't even 3. Europe is amazing.
you put your hands over the taxi driver's eyes and shouted GUESS THE WAY TO THE CLUB
And they were awkwardly all over each other in a Christian way.
no. i discovered the *exact* amount of drugs i need to do to understand calculus.
Novelty of the week: Getting my lipstick back in an evidence bag
I want him for more than banging and buying me potato salad. Is this what love feels like?
At the funeral we'll say nice things, like "She was delightfully extreme, psychotically wonderful, and could probably drink all you fuckers under the table."
That's literally the perfect eulogy
you made cordon bleu at 4am and declared you were Marshall Stewart
I just used Bacardi to dry out poison ivy.
I thought the dude was just really enjoying his piss but apparently he was jerkin off into the urinal.
he's such a nice guy...he deserves a bigger dick.
he had a bulletproof vest and a pocket full of lollipops! how was i suppose to say no.
You're swimming in an imaginary pool of pudding. What do you think?
Randomize
