4:25 am: I want you here. Ugh.
We're going to shave my junk and take pictures of it wearing fake mustaches we found at the dollar store. They're uncannily realistic; much better than the cockstaches of my youth.
I was like a migrating bird last night. Navigating on pure instinct. Don't remember how... but I made it home.
You can't text people with drinkers' regret at 8 in the morning. It's just bad form.
first thing my tuition money buys is a strap on
I'm shaved like a Brazilian hooker right now.
I have the flu.
I don't give a shit
The notification you get from snapchat that someone took a screenie is like a formal declaration of blackmail.
And I might have stolen a bag of Doritos out of Matt's car and hid them in my bag and gave individual chips out to people dancing, trying to convince people they were mini tacos.. Like why Am I allowed to be an adult
Im wearing a bra. Made of paint.
No he can't come. I swear to gods he's "Why We Can't Have Nice Things" given physical form.
THEY'RE TEXTING LIKE MIDDLE AGED SOCCER MOMS WHAT DO I DO
IT'S LIKE LOOKING INTO GOD'S VAGINA!!!!
Last night you dunked donut holes in spinach dip, ate it, threw up, and continued eating. I cant keep up with your drunk eating skills.
I was wondering where the donuts went.
Its the damn oven. I think it wants to eat me.
You sending me our unborn, unfertilized babies' names is not what I envisioned when you said you'd "drunk text me later".
Randomize
