dear life, i get it, drinking is not a contest
sounds like you fell off the wagon.
fuck falling off. at this point, the wagon is a dot on the horizon.
It was some time between the gurgles of her blowing me to us throwing up in the same bucket afterwards that I realized we would be doing this a lot.
You told me that you only walk into walls because it makes the room stop spinning.
I have blocked the memory from my mind. He is just a fuzzy cloud floating with my other bad decisions..
Sober me does NOT approve of what went on in my pants last night.
I should also mention that having been a sheltered child, I am conditioned to have serious kinks and find upper bodies of either sex attractive. And legs.
Ummm Im the uneducated alcoholic of the group... if I say its a bad idea, its probably a bad idea.
It's just weird. It's like Big Bird dating Meg Griffin.
I think I collapsed a disk in my spine when I drunkenly lifted that fat girl on my shoulders to chicken fight at the pool.
Jailed a totally belligerent hot guy. That was probably my most thorough pat down. Ever.
The blow job award ceremony was a little much. You guys didn't need to call out what happened the night before.
What? How can you say that? You won!
The problem with drugs is that there's none in this hotel
The problem with drugs is that showing my boobs only gets so much of them
She rode me wearing nothing but a Santa hat. Merriest fucking Christmas!
Had a dream we were competing for tomatos.
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