And then I have a slight inkling that I went up to the bar and tried to order the bartender.
She asked me to facebook all the girls I'd hooked up with. She started crying when I started my search with A.
like in an apt above a crackhead. A LEGIT CRACKHEAD. he woke me up every morning this week asking me if I wanted to buy a mini fridge and some CDs. at 5 am. EVERY DAY.
Eating doritas dunked in queso con salas. Salllas. Salska. Salsa. Got it. Shhiitt. Salsa con queso. That's better. I'm hot pink socks.
Then I received a text in French, that roughly translated to "all you'll ever be good for is sex on the Internet"
I feel like I was just dunked in a tub of beer and then thrown in a giant dryer with rocks in it.
he slapped my stomach and proclaimed it a baby-free zone
The to do list extremely baked self wrote for me last night says "1. Join gym 2. Passport? 3. Join a gym" And then just a drawing of a squid
Pack light, we're going straight to bar from the train. No place to put our shit.
Dude all I'm bringing is my dick and a phone charger.
He said, "cum on daddy's dick!" ... I pictured my dad. That just scarred me for life.
Gotta get dat. Gotta get dat. Gotta get dat dat dat dat dat ~uterus contraction~
It's like that thing with the devil and the angel except one shoulder has orgasms and the other has stuffed crust pizza and depression.
Yeah. Moral of the story: Don't mace yourself. It sucks dick.
I fucked his roommate. And that roommate's best friend. And my roommate. And my roommate's old roommate.
i'm bowing down, but slow your roll.
I had a dream I hooked up with Post Malone. I can still smell the dream
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