I could tell by the way he was holding my hand that he really liked you
flashcards smell like vodka and my textbook is in the toilet. ready for the final
My math professor just asked us to draw the graph of the derivative of our drunkenness from friday to sunday. Dear Jesus this looks bad.
I don't even know why im sitting in this office eating a poptart.
My face is tingly. And my legs are being massaged by golden elves.
I have a lot of questions this morning, most of them start with "Did I..."
Please don't make me ever have to hear the words "the Queen's gynecologist" ever again.
she's sitting there like the lesbian godfather. A cigarette in one hand and a titty in the other.
I can't decide if this outfit makes me look like a pirate. I also can't decide if I care if it does.
I just set up a proportion to calculate how much Jolly Rancher vodka I can make with the limited amount of Jolly Ranchers I have. Finally, real-life application of math.
Sundays were made for eating Ramen pantless in bed.
There's literally not a single picture of him with a shirt on. I can't talk to him without dislocating my eye balls.
when you shit yourself on the way to school its time to give up and go home
There's wax on my nightstand, my sheets look like Christmas, and my vagina feels like it got into a fight. All signs of a good night
Drunk twilight is the only twilight
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