Definitely locked eyes with the stripper who gave me a lapdance last night as she walked by me and into the Ann Taylor Loft in Times Square.
Pants on the Ground is the theme song of my life
i just woke up to seventeen texts from you saying all the things you would have done for a french fry.
I can't get a boner in the bathroom of a buffet.
You're mold. I may or maynot have puked blood this morning.
Don't come. It's not even a party it's a total sausage fest. Like 20 drunk dudes in a bedroom. We can still drink by ourselves though it'll be ok
Unless your apartment has 3 am pancakes Im not coming over.
Beer and tomahawks! Not gonna end well!
My life is sponsored by tidy cat kitty litter, Bacardi rum, and plan b.
Go to hungover. Go directly to hungover. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars
can we take a moment to remember my theory on 'your tongue is a snake that lives in your mouth' because we reached a whole new level of high
And then you poured the rest of the vodka into salsa and added the alcohol soaked pineapples and grapes and said "don't touch my salsa breakfast".
ugh i want to get waxed but I’m afraid. my vagina has had enough trauma this week, i don’t know if I can put her thru any more.
You wrapped yourself in tin-foil and told us you were Iron Man. I have pictures.
When we started the night I was in zebra wedges & she was in my black boots... I woke up wearing pink flip flops & the mirror on my rental is fuxked up. Wtf happened last night?
Randomize
