I'm twenty-five. I'm too old to be watching my friend throw up in Chipolte Parking lot.
Boobs. All I remember is boobs.
Last night, my friend changed all my contacts in my phone. I have been texted by Batman, Donatello, and Hermione Granger. I have no idea who they are, and it doesn't upset me at all.
Still bad at ganbling. Still good at dringing.
At least we kept it together. It's people like him who yell at bushes that give acid a bad name
No. No, there is no forgiveness for this. The only way I'm forgiving you for this is if you somehow convince your sister to have sex with me. In her car.
He goes "hi, free today?" WHEN AM I EVER FREE ON A SATURDAY, I GOT HUNGOVER TO BE AND DRUNK TO GET.
Oh god. I asked to "play his sexaphone" which I though was a super sex way to say "let me blow you". He fucking walked home at 4:30am
His ass WILL be my cock's next vacation home.
I wish I had a dick so I could say shit like that.
Once he bit me I drew the fucking line.
MY LIFE IS A TRAINWRECK THATS ON FIRE BUT SOMEHOW STILL MOVING, I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SCREAM OUTSIDE AT 2AM
Chasing down vodka with apple juice and crying. Alone.
If you don't sing 'dust in the wind' at my funeral, I'll haunt you forever
You know why I love being a regular at this bar? It's because at a certain point last call is only a suggestion.
Do you remember what happened last night? All I could find we're phone numbers of strip clubs in Detroit. Did we go to Detroit?
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