You are the patron saint of my drinking problem.
you were passed out in your cheese fries by the time he brought out your second order of french toast.
I'm reciting my presentation (beer in hand) on the porch to a snowmen audience.
Home safe. Psyche shattered. Still rolling. In love with the morrocan rug in the living room.
well that explains the french fry and ketchup packet rolled into the wasitband of my sweats. thank you drunk me.
I am going to dream of scrotums tonight, I just know it.
I threw up in my closet when I was hammered last night. Like a fucking toddler. I can't play with the grow ups.
He just said "I know you want my cock" and I said nah. I want food bro
Look, you're talking to the wrong girl here. Tacos>dick always and forever
I woke up this morning to my panties draped around the neck of an empty bottle of bulleit. That is the perfect visual metaphor for my life at this juncture.
It all started with a game of naked twister.
He's not put together enough to have that big of a dick
Makes hanging out interesting when she lights you on fire just to roll ontop of you to 'put you out'.
I'll text you when I have a mental breakdown about it.
Please do.
Wakes up in a cold sweat at 3am, 136 unread messages and the preview on the notification is "I JUST GOT TO THE INCEST PART"
Randomize
