There was a pool of blood on my desk and we still don't know who it belongs to. missed a good party, man.
Whoever said drinking more helps a hangover didn't drink 96% of a fifth of whiskey last night. This is absurd.
At a pool hall. Dudes walkin around with fuzzy handcuffs cuffed to his belt. The douche bag level grows higher still
I don't care. I'll be that guy that eats cake in a car. Alone. With the doors locked.
Stop. He threw up in front of Madison Square Garden security. Spit at the guys feet and grunted ughhh at him.
It smells like someone died in our apartment and ya'll used some random orifice of his body to smoke weed out of. Side note, how did we get a guitar?
It was one of those you-have-no-other-way-home-and-we-already-made-out-so-I-guess-youre-coming-home-with-me-if-you-promise-to-leave-early kind of deals.
Every time you blow me I should make a paper crane and we'll make them into a chain and hang them from the ceiling. And then whenever we have people over and they ask what the cranes are for I'll say "reminders" and wink at you.
We're having soft pretzels and cheese dip for dinner tonight. Like fucking adults.
he had a Pillsbury dough boy tattoo to remind him of his drug dealing days
Drunk wound on my leg hast healed and neither has my dignity
But no. So do not give him one damn penny. Unless they are in a sock and you are hitting him with it.
Will you remind me I changed my hotspot phone password to fuckyouprivilegedwhitedude
Correction: Jimmy johns. The one pita pit employee has been an asshole to me ever since you locked them out of the store
When we were finished she immediately got up, cut a star out of a piece of paper, colored it gold, taped it to my chest and deemed me the Sheriff of Sex.
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