By the grace of god and the ingenuity of Alexander Graham Bell, this text message is made possibe: YOU ARE A WHORE
my mom sold the house because of the grow room the couple saw i had in the basement.
no, no, no. omg. i said i wanted a SANDWICH! not a picture of your dick. damn cant you read? SANDWICH! now im blinded. great job.
There are dudes in kilts outside my window practicing fire breathing with cheap vodka and a modified grill lighter. I thought you should know.
drunk waterpark is besst waterpark.
So, your mugshot picture is behind the counter at B-Dubs, with the caption: "not allowed on premesis."
You'll have to pretend I'm texting you with buddychecks.
Like the Jimeny Cricket of cockblocks.
And I can say one thing, I look pretty good in high wasted pants. I don't know if that helps. But I do. God I'm high.
Got home and told boyfriend what happened. He was like "you made out with a guy you call Balls Deep?" and hi-fived me.
We went camping and met these lesbians and now I have S'mores where there shouldn't be S'mores.
I like to oil my gears with cheap vodka and strangers
Please tell me im imagining that i claimed that i was king of the ducks.
right now I am washing the alcohol and shame off from last night
Drunk and bowling. Only good things can come of this
She left a cookie cake on my porch, and the frosting reads "I'm sorry". She left me an I'm-sorry-for-punching-you-in-the-face cake.
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