I'm laying in your front yard are you home
yesterday i saw a blind man guiding himself into a NYC tour bus... and i thought i waste money
i wish i could, but i promised myself i wouldn't sleep with anyone who couldn't grow a beard for a while. it's not you, it's crosby.
You know, I never expected to find myself with a roommate who I'd have to ask not to have sex while I'm in the room. And yet, here we are.
I vaguely remember walking down the highstreet with a plate of K offering lines to passers buy. I sold a line to a taxi driver.
I have the coolest burn here. Everyone is taking my picture. I'm like a celebrity of the burn victims.
After seeing how much you are able to funnel in a night, I am 90% sure your blood is pure gin.
He took the Gold in Olympic clit licking last night. Canada should be proud.
Look at you go. You're like the Slutty Librarian that Could. They should write children's books about you. Children's books for adults.
Super stoned right now. And I stared at my exit, thought to myself "hey self. That is your exit" and I kept driving right past it.
We're over by the bouncy castles. I'm the one wearing a baby. Bring Twizzlers.
I want my tombstone to read "making poor life decisions since 1993"
The whole time you were apparently enduring your pukescapades, I was singing very loudly in the car to Beyonce on my way to get a post-coitus Diet Coke.
He was telling me how he was trying to grow up. And then 2 minutes later, he told me he was tripping on lsd for the first time.
i think i passed out for a few seconds while we were having sex but he didnt notice...
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