last night was a success...if success means i don't remember the guy's name and my panties are somewhere in the parking lot behind the bar
There's a show on bravo about fat people dancing. FAT PEOPLE. DANCING.
This is god's gift to the unemployed.
john hughes is dead. crushing any and all dreams of me ever being in an 80's john hughes film. bummer.
Security brought me back to our hotel room in a wheelchair last night. Vegas.
And if you ever tell anyone that I will fucking kill you.
It was going alright when lo and behold Tom the cock blocking tornado hits. He is the only man I know who doesn't want anyone to fuck girls.
God loves me. So high, craving Jimmy Johns chips, looked down, unopened bag in front of me. Still doesn't feel real
She was horrified when I asked if they had any strap on chin dildos, I was at a sex shop for gods sake must I be judged everywhere
Lmfao. We asked what you wanted to eat and you said vagina. I don't care what kind. Fresh, barbecue, roasted on a camp fire. I just want it on my taste buds.
All I know is I got on a table at late night and sang gotta go my own way
I'm 10 cats away from completing my post divorce transformation.
Maybe they'll dismiss me from jury duty after they smell beer on me. You can't keep me in a cage and then give me an hour and a half long lunch break next to a beer fest and expect sobriety.
Since I won't be making love with anyone on a bed of roses this year on Sunday I bought a Mustang to fill the gap
I know. I'm a saint. Saint of sitting on faces.
Facebook: “Hey you fucked on a diving board, you should probably should wish him a happy birthday”
It smells like graded cheese and febreze in the family room what the hell have you been up to???
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