Worst part of St. Paddy's...me drunkenly crying to a U2 cover band.
God dammit, you have a cape and I don't even have a fucking jacket.
Do you want the really bad news or the bad news? Or do you want it in chronological order?
He gets a blow job and all I get is a huge scar on my arm ... how is this fair?
Found out why I didn't have to go drug test. My boss grew pot to pay for grad school.
I bought you a small gift as a preemptive apology for being a drunken slut tonight.
Don't forget: you only show your tits for the good beads. Be judicious.
I've heard awesome things about their margaritas. I also may buy a mustache from party city. Would you do me with a mustache on??! Hahahaha. But, really.
I'm not sure what is worse, the fact that Hoffman doesn't sell vodka before 9am or that I was trying to buy vodka at 8:30am.
There are both cum and chocolate stains on my sheets. Can't decide whether this is a new low or a new high.
I'm pants less watching buffy the vampire slayer drinking rum. I'm not that hard to impress
He was Jesus for Halloween and I definitely got on my knees and gave him praise.
It's sad that I'm more proud of my Twitter account then my resume
Woke up. Found about 20 condoms upstairs. A hole in the couch. Bread on the floor. Going back to sleep.
I really just gave up on masterbating because I'm too tired. I really am getting old.
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