So I have exactly 420 dollars saved up in tips from the past week. I win, and I take that as a sign from god that I am allowed to use that money to buy drugs.
i soberly give you permission to do that to me when im drunk
like in an apt above a crackhead. A LEGIT CRACKHEAD. he woke me up every morning this week asking me if I wanted to buy a mini fridge and some CDs. at 5 am. EVERY DAY.
Just mindlessly walked into the mens bathroom. My vagina has now become its own independent being, looking for penises. I'm just along for the ride.
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whiskey dick. though we did manage to break my closet door and flood the bathroom.
Home. Barefoot. Drunk. Crying. Puked. Brushed teeth. Washed face. Dying. Need Cuddle.
Laying on my kitchen floor and the lights just got brighter... I just died or there was a power surge. Based on the amount of booze I drink both are possible.
So instead of asking me for my number, he asked for my dad's because he wanted to "thank the man that helped create those tits."
Im going to bed. I'm seeing 7 of everything and my world smells like gravy
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i think the title to my autobiography shall be, "a bottle of vodka and various pieces of meat"
and this is why you're my favorite gay friend.
Although I would ideally cut back on smoking weed, imagine what getting high and looking for our spirit animals would be like
You took one look at him and said "let's hope I don't remember this tomorrow" then you took another shot and chased it with a beer.. I guess it was a success.
Granted every 20 shifts of working there you seem to be on par to receive some sort of racy satisfying sexual encounter which money can’t buy
Sorry for peeing on your books last night. I wouldn't leave them next to the window anymore.
I miss painting strippers for Christmas. Holidays not the same without glitter and body paint
I'll be your substitute stripper tonight.
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