just sold my soul for a pack of cigaroos. little do they know they got the short end of the deal. suckers.
nothing makes up for a small, perpetually flaccid penis quite like a British accent
I'm going to take the bottles back.. And maybe get an x-ray
you said grace in the diner. 5am, drunk, grace. you thanked the man w the mushroom cut for the wonderful supply of screwdrivers
Last night at the bar my fuck buddies found out about each other.
Wtf? What happened?
Not quite sure but they rock, paper, scissored to see who was taking me home.
The neighbors are smoking hash and doing Julia Child impressions...again.
My wrist bandage is guacamole stained. What an accurate representation of my life as a whole
I feel like if Miami and New Jersey fucked each other and produced a baby that would summarize the bar I'm in.
Valuable lesson learned: if you reach the point where you have to talk yourself in to finishing the last half of your beer, you shouldn't try.
So I walk in and he's teaching someone in London via Skype how to roll a blunt. I have new found respect for him.
It's midsummers eve. A.k.a. come over so we can get drunk and wear leaf crowns
I couldn't fall back asleep it was too bright so I just took my sports bra off and put it over my eyes
Turns out she left way earlier. So I'm stuck with this guy asking where he can score meth and if I'm really straight.
I gave him a BJ and he left. Coincidentally that's the name of my memoir.
This is the best thing we've done since that time we started a religion