I woke up with a crunchy, pink Pepto streak through my hair, no recollection of the last 6 hours of my night and the feeling that all the hotel's staff knew me on a first name basis.
I just saw an old lady yelling at a dead pigeon for leaving the oven on.
She just asked me if her C-section scar turned me on.
We need a plan...
Find random men. Use them as sexual objects. There's our plan.
Well let's just say that she ended up trying to get it in with the wheelchair guy, who btw, can get an erection and quickly I might add
I'm this close to masturbating to his profile pics from 2006
Somehow me not being able to breathe due to cocaine doesn't seem very domesticated.
The thing is that despite the high paying career and the increased responsibility, my life hasn't changed that much. Only instead of blacking out on $2 wells at some dive I blackout on top shelf martinis in a suit. Oh and only on Fri & Sat nights. Being 30 doesn't suck as bad as everyone led me to believe.
I have cum and leaves all over me. Don't ask questions.
she just stared at nothing and then looked at me and goes, "that's a weird place to put the wall"
I mean I love some drunk compliments, but he just wasn't up to my low standards.
We were walking home from Pluckers (read carrying your drunk ass) and out of nowhere you yelled "Say bitch you got a Facebook?" at a random chick walking by.
*swallows 40 gallons of heavy water and astral projects into buzzfeed* Top Ten Reasons Why I Am God
I wasn't going to drink. Then there was alcohol so I gave that up.
It was all going good until I realized she was wearing underwear with a butt flap. Mission aborted.
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