In retrospect - making it rain salt all over our kitchen was not one of my best ideas.
The only way I made it through work was reminding myself how many margaritas per hour I was making
WHOA. WHOA. WTF. WHOA. TOO HIGH FOR HIM TO BE ENGAGED RIGHT NOW.
Besides, I'm not in my 30's. I'm still allowed to drink wine from a bag.
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After we had sex he bought me grape soda. I think I'll keep him.
You were demanding water from a bottle but I didn't have one..so I just took the water bottle from the hamster cage. You're welcome.
somedays, I wish the drugs you give me would convince me they were a bad idea preingestion.
where's the fun in that?
I hear the sound of that stray bird you rescued from the kitchen but am too busy drunkenly masturbating to feed it
I don't care if my next phone has to run on the blood of virgin koala bears, I don't want to be scrambling for a charger.
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Just letting everyone know that I am still alive after last night. On a related note, this is the 15th "I'm not dead!" mass text I've sent. You've got to celebrate the little things.
My husband has seen you naked more times this week than me. I don't consider it a bad thing since you keep bringing the booze to our house. And because my tits are bigger.
The lowest point of my life has been reached. I just drank half a jar of pasta sauce.
It's become almost a Pavlovian response. The sound of the vacuum being run by hubby causes an instantaneous involuntary orgasm.
TURNS OUT they were both cheating. Like the Gift of the Magi except for shitty people
I just learned that the grill marks on a Burger King burger patty are actually previously burnt on there with a radioactive spray-on liquid and McDonald's french fries are actually 5% potato.
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