WORST DINGLEBERRY EVER
You're the 8th person from last night to text me this morning and ask if I'm ok.
It doesn't count as drinking alone if you're making rum cake with it.
Since you haven't talked to me since the rancid whipped cream fiasco, I'm going to assume we are no longer hooking up. But I need my handcuffs back. ASAP.
I need the number of a restaurant that delivers, has lock-picking abilities, and is okay with full frontal male nudity. Entirely too hungover to get out of bed.
No it's ok. I made friends with the guy that always wears helmets to the bar. His name is helmet Harry
Before we fucked we both mutually agreed not to tweet about it.
Why were my jeans in the freezer of the mini fridge, and how long have they been in there? On another note, I found my teacher's ID badge.
Probably won't be invited back there again considering last time his purebred corgi ate my pot brownie and had to be rushed to the hospital.
Watching Rudolph while stoned is practically a religious experience.
Drinking and decided to streak in the apartment fountain. Canadian goose shit and sharp rocks on the bottom. I sobered up quick. That was a very bad idea.
I think I left my thong in your bed. Careful. It has the power to destroy the agitator on a washing machine
I don't want to spend an inordinate amount of time with you, I want to have sex with you. Duhhhhhh.
The guy in the cage next to me is having phone sex. His girlfriend is in College Library. Why is my life ridiculous.
Like at first he was barely doing anything. So I was like harder and then holy shit he's like going all HULK SMASH on my vagina. I mean it felt fucking awesome. BUT STILL
Randomize
