I honestly don't know what my boundaries are, but shitting on me is crossing them.
He picked me up from the airport wearing nothing but a trench coat and a bow on his dick
he put $150 on the cabs dash so 9 of us could pile in and ride 3 blocks to the apartment.
Somehow "stranger danger" turned into making out with a 25 year old on burbon street.
He's more than prepared to help us move. Dude brought sunscreen, cans of Coke, and Captain Morgan.
But you have work tomorrow. And a whore to pick up. And a dinner to eat. And a vagina to slaughter. Your day is full!
I appreciate the concept of vaginal slaughtering.
I drink way too much to have a type. Last weekend I picked up a guy who calls me "baby girl"
Guess who won a bet and gets to name it Optimus prime if it's a boy
Nevermind. Totally worth it.
The only thing I'm asking santa for is my period.
And vodka?
And vodka.
Good news. That bum you thought that died is alive.
Seriously, I look like I crawled out of a bog. Succeeding at being as undateable as possible.
Maybe I'm not hungover. Maybe I'm actually dying.
If it involves notarization or the Misfits, I am up to date. Anything else, I know fuck-all.
Correction: Jimmy johns. The one pita pit employee has been an asshole to me ever since you locked them out of the store
Nate is still in lock up because when the cop informed me he'd shit his pants in the squad car I declined to post bail.
Randomize
