Me. At least after what I've been through.
I don't know what's more sad: The fact that he fingered the side of my leg, or the fact that the side of my leg feels like a vagina.
and now I know what throwing up pineapple chunks is like.
Yeah, we had those soaking in vodka for like 36 hours
outstanding.
Realized I'm still to drunk to comprehend work emails. Marked them all as unread. Here's to responsible hang overs.
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I think he may have overheard our "how much coke would you fuck me for" conversation last night...
your friend did not want a bj. we need to leave. this is very awkward.
She's trying to feed the TV fried rice and screaming "FRIED RICE AND TEARS". Please bring me more booze.
Considering adding a large amount of vodka to my tomato cup-a-soup at work. Save me.
So I walk in and he's teaching someone in London via Skype how to roll a blunt. I have new found respect for him.
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When we picked him up this morning the cop said that if they actually arrested every drunk American who pissed on cathedral doors, Spain wouldn't have any room for real prisoners.
Just told my mom I need money for Molly. She was not happy
I just spilled grey goose in my hair. You could say I keep it classy for the family Christmas parties.
Well at least I still have a burrito in my pocket.
His ass is a ten, but his personality is a two. Which would average to a six if I didn't have to figure in apologizing to all and sundry. In short hard no. Get a new wingman.
He’s exactly what I’m looking for: he’s got a broken heart, a working penis and a new boat!!!
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