I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
I'm cleaning the house. And I can't stop listening to Enrique Iglesias. Am I gay?
I even have the new album if that helps you make a decision.
she's googling pictures of Freddy Mercury and whispering 'I'm ready'
I don't think I can handle being a slut. There is a lot more emotional stress that I never realized.
hey you knew what you were in for when i showed up with 2 fifths of Jim. plus i left money to pay for a new sink
i've really grown. sober me left an alarm for me every 10 minutes that said NO FAT CHICKS!
dude. im stealing that.
If I were you I'd use my green card to do more coke and less talking
I may puke in class so I'm excited to see how that goes
i love how you just walk into that dealer's house every time without knocking, yet you don't even know his name
I kept having to give myself encouraging advice like, "you know how a path works"
I panicked i brought burritos. Funeral burritos
I felt like a responsible adult. A responsible adult that may or may not end up shitfaced. But not heaving purple puke into a urinal like last time because I'm classy now.
I keep picking up boring men who literally just want to cuddle. HOW AM I THIS BAD AT GETTING SEX?
Why the fuck is there a goat in the kitchen
Honestly his girlfriend says she hates me cause she thinks im trying to get him to cheat on her with me...she should hate me cause i already accomplished that.
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