This is a mass text. Does anyone know where I am?
I think I might.. possibly.. like a Justin Bieber song.
I think you might... possibly... have sprouted a vagina.
I'm in my winter jacket and nothing else. very drunk. bring bitches.
Fell off bed. Face first. 10 stitches. huge scar on forehead. totally going to start telling ppl my parents died fighting Voldemort.
I just peed on my pajamas. Its gonna be a long night. Don't forget the cookies.
The last memory I have is vomiting into a box and her rubbing my back saying "you are such a trooper..."
She gives me Chlamydia and somehow I'm still the asshole
I can't be held responsible for my own vagina. Let's just be honest here.
They're doing a Bong-A-Thon for 4/20. I don't care if you quit. You are coming out of your weed retirement for this.
This is the minute she broke up with me. If you're receiving this mass text, you are one for the girls who made me promise to text you at this point.
I know that we've never been that tight but I want you to meet my cat before I move.
omg this is getting ridiculous. nobody's vagina should ever be this neglected.
I'm washing down the sadness with shots of vodka.
The memory of your penis haunts me. I must learn to be satisfied with lesser men than you.
We had a pink drink in honor of my underwear and apparently I made out with our bartender... a few times
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