Job is the problem. Drinking, the solution.
I was going through my mom's high school yearbook...almost half the people who signed it referred to her as "Karen Smokejoints", "Confused Karen", or drew a picture of a joint. I have never felt more like her daughter.
Its funny how you denied every part of the text except " you hate fat ppl"
Home safe. Psyche shattered. Still rolling. In love with the morrocan rug in the living room.
Apparently I whispered "Jesus was here" and bailed out of the moving taxi.
I recommend you throw your keys as far as you can in one direction, your phone as far as you can in the opposite direction, and hold on.
Well I consider my vagina a dear friend. She treats me good I treat her good. We work together. Glad we could be of service.
We have started to decorate penises.
Still trying to figure out where I was when someone broke the lawn chair and put it in the bathroom.
Apparently at some point last night someone gave me tequila. There was a few shots left when I woke up so that was breakfast. This is a good birthday
don't worry about my dad. he just hates you because you're liberal, not because we're fucking.
He walked around my apt complex completely naked and started peeing in the maintenance because he thought it was the bathroom. So yeah, pretty drunk.
We both know we're cheating on one another. But our side pieces aren't as kinky as us...so yeah, we're still together. This is a fucked up relationship.
Something tells me tonight will end with me wearing my pants on my head again.
I really need to get a comfy set of masturbating shoes
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