there's paper in my vomit.
We walked through the hotel lobby in slow-mo taking huge steps because we were astronauts, and astronauts obviously can't be drunk.
I feel like if you stuck me in a room with all my old toys it'd be the best high ever.
Woke up to a bottle of gatorade and a packet of saltine crackers tied to underwear hanging from my ceiling fan, along with 3 advil stuck to a piece of duct tape and a note saying "have a happy hangover- <3 you/me"
Drunk you is pretty stunner.
You told her to step on the scale because you had whiskey goggles, and scales don't lie.
You threw an open can of pop at me while I was lying on the floor babbling and drooling about how I need to be alone forever, me and my leaking face.
Wearing a shark mask, slugging tequilla, in cowboy boots, and not minding that my spandex is on backwards. What are you up to?
Seriously, this apartment is covered in body glitter. This chick musta been a huuuuuge slut. How do you get it across every surface?
Do you have any forwarding contact info?
Why do I think he'd like to keep my hair in a box?
She pretty much spent NYE measuring dicks, trying to decide which one to take home.
I think tonight's gonna be the night I wear a go pro while trippin on acid
Denim handjobs are the worst handjobs. I hate all handjobs. Why do people even.
She said it was unconventional for me to yell "Shazam!!" when I came inside her.
this is a mass text: the cage has been opened. repeat, the cage has been opened. a search party will be organized. you are all sloppy bitches. that is all.
Just FYI: if you happen to notice a liquid of some sort on my kitchen counter with an interesting color/ texture, don't taste it
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