I think I speak chipmunk. Odd.
Are you high?
No. That's why it's odd
I am at the point in my high where i now know/understand chinese.
By the grace of god and the ingenuity of Alexander Graham Bell, this text message is made possibe: YOU ARE A WHORE
Hangover cure: shower, throw up again, sleep for 4 hours, eat salsa, brush teeth. Good to go.
Starting drinking whiskey at eight. Already had ten girls looking up my kilt to make sure I'm wearing it right.
Who wrote Most Moistest Dad on my chest and what the fuck does it mean?!?
I've smoked enough weed to put down a pony.
Yeah, this dress is irreparably whorey. I've resigned myself to being a family scandal.
i'd say i'm about at weeping-uncontrollably-in-a-puddle-of-my-own-tears-and-urine level
YOU'RE CHANGING THE SUBJECT. I CAN BLOW SOMETHING UP OR I CAN TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM, BUT ONE OF THE TWO IS BOUND TO HAPPEN
can we just punch him in the dick and call it a victory for feminism
I've had 5 hours of sleep and I still smell like sex with the Colonel. I don't appreciate spontaneity.
Also, you think turning 23 is bad, I just ran into the guy that gave my chlymidia
And you know what the worst part is? Because of him I can now relate to a goddamn Taylor Swift song. FUCK. MY. LIFE.
my boobs just made me lose a game of beer pong. the balls hit them, bounced off and into the cup. twice. ive never been so disappointed in them.
Randomize
