You keep asking me questions like I have this magical thing called a memory
I love sluts.
I end my prayers with that every single night.
john hughes is dead. crushing any and all dreams of me ever being in an 80's john hughes film. bummer.
you were sleeping on the floor, then you woke up and told me you were not comfy enough. You took the carpet in the bathroom put it in the bath and you slept there.
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I don't remember. I remember laying in the trunk of a car. For hours.
There are parrots here and they're headbanging to the music. There's also a clown and a pit bull that can jump onto tables. Too high for this shit.
He's coming over, and I hope he doesn't get hungry. I'm sure its not proper protocol to bring one booty call to another booty call's house for the munchies.
I know you hold the fastest time for "zoo downhill wheelchair racing" but I don't see what that has to do with this.
I drunkenly called my ex on Skype last night and didn't talk, just smiled real big at him until I fell asleep.
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I feel like I was dropped out of a helicopter. Through the propeller.
Hot Damn Cinnamon Schnapps make me feel like the sun is punching me in the face and a bear is sleeping inside me.
She's like the King Midas of sexual confusion. Everything she touches turns to gay.
I wrote an entire paper in under an hour about The Nightmare Before Christmas. I was also high as shit and pretty sure I dedicated half the page to the animation but still.
Scary. I hope people take me seriously. Maybe I should black out less to be sure
Look, if it comes down to it, I’m spraying whipped cream on your nuts
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