Conclusion from last night: Sometimes being classy isn't as fun as making out with a guy on a pooltable in a bar. Happy birthday, Canada.
i feel like my life has become an afroman song and idk whether i should be sad about that or not
my dad is drunk dialing our relatives who are stuck in a blizzard asking them to pick up sun tan lotion for him cause hes too drunk to drive to the store.
He told me all about his plan for proposing to his girlfriend as pillow talk.
he started drinking at 9am with grey goose and pancakes. He IS my hero.
When she e-mailed me back asking for proof, complete with hospital intake records, I just told her it was a home-birth. I'm prepared to take the fail.
Apparently I promised a worker at La Siesta free English lessons to make up for vomming all over the little Mariachi band.
Fell in the ditch running from the pizza guy I stole the pizza from. If you are still at my house come find me, pretty sure I need stitches.
just got home. some guy on my porch is tryin to show me his balls. no more parties at my apartment.
One day. I will touch his hair. I'm curious if it'll be like a soft cloud.
It was fine until they started lighting shots of everclear on fire and making ME take them. That's when shit went down...
He tried to tip me with his police badge...
and you didn't accept WHY?!
And I wasn't CONVICTED of a felony, I just committed one
What'd I miss?
Erotic hypnosis and studded dog collars.
getting my period the day i moved was my bodies way of saying 'congratulations youre not leaving town with anybodies babies!'
Randomize
