There's a hobo dancing by himself. Is anyone going to ask how he got in the house?
It was like fucking a house. Down the chimney. That deep and empty.
Security brought me back to our hotel room in a wheelchair last night. Vegas.
And if you ever tell anyone that I will fucking kill you.
"Whiskey Cheerios" was a terribly great idea.
Turns out my drunken logic and wordsmithing isn't quite the same as the sober version. I'm pretty sure I made fun of the managers mom at one point
I just pulled a handful of rice out of my pocket.
I WANT MY VAGINA TO POUND AT NICE THINGS.
Shit. I'm suppose to call the bank but I'm too high to talk numbers.
They just keep looking funny at me. No one has attempted to tell me that I don't make sense though so maybe they're all way more high than I am.
She said I'm like warm bathroom-sink water. There's nothing necessarily wrong with me, but she doesn't exactly want to "drink me in"
I think he thought I was too drunk to handle his parrot
you know you're in deep when you watch fear and loathing in las vegas and every damn scene is relatable.
Full body rubs, head scratches, foot rubs, massages, a penis that is able to get hard whenever you want it. I mean ive got a lot to offer
I called him Oliver all night
His name is Brandon
Dude... Those don't even start with the same letter...
How did I end up with the cock ring?!
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