But please don't judge me if i smell like mustard
there is a money trail leading from my bathroom to my living room.. the trail ends with a half eaten bag of chips with a note that says "magical chipz".. who am i?
I should probably go to bed before I start to care about why I started drinking in the first place.
That's actually a fantastic idea... The kinky sex dungeon will be vastly improved by the addition of a lightsaber
100% truth: never tied someone to a bed using 4 pairs of sweatpants before
I doubt she'll sponsor it. You know alcohol and fireworks don't mix, right?
It's okay. We're not going to soak the fireworks in alcohol. The alcohol is for drinking.
I just had sex over my oven then high fived the guy. It's going to be a good year.
It's cosmic balancing. My vagina is an instrument of karmic retribution.
I had to sit there with his three fat aunts talking about a bunch of 50 Shades knockoff books.
I felt like a taxi, but my meter was running up minutes he would be eating me out that night.
Next time, please cut me off before I'm at the point of pooping in the bathtub again
so in case you needed a ticket for the Hot Mess Express, I'm the conductor now.
Chugging this bottle of Jim at the airport is proving more difficult than I imagined. TSA is not amused.
I booty texted him nothing but three exclamation points at 3:05am and he was in my bed 17 minutes later, lest you think punctuation is not important.
Like I’ve seen him completely trashed and I’ve also seen him rip shirtsleeves off with his teeth and I can’t tell if I’m intrigued or not
To describe how high he was he said, " I'm cocked out of my ape sandwich" so yes...that was some pretty good weed.
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