4:12a: just got back to his place now. I don't want to talk about it
Here's my recipe for happiness. Go get a pen. 1. smoke a bowl 2. put on explosions in the sky 3. take a bath. Do this for about 1 hour or until all your problems go away.
It was like a drunk episode of Dora the Explorer. In English.
He's my palate cleanser. He's my mint sorbet. He's my saltine cracker. He's who I fuck between people to make the next one better.
I can't tell if I miss summer or 5 times a day sex more.
I miss the good ol' days when we would yell at strangers from your balcony while wearing our mexican ponchos in the middle of the day.
what ever happened to our old dealer?
you did a full monologue with your sober self last night. different voices and everything.
How do I know I'm high? Let me count the ways.
1. I put the milk in the cupboard, 2. Everything tastes fucking amazing, 3. My dog is really soft, 4. The lunesta butterfly flew out of my tv and touched me
After he finished he proceeded to check my boobs for breast cancer.
its like my brain is a tree and you are those little cookie elves
I'll get tired halfway through and end up passed out at a taco shack honestly
I swear if you laugh while im moaning i will immediately stop and go home.
Turns out he's just a recently divorced IT guy. Not a wizard.
He was gone for 5 minutes, opened the car door and said, "Don't eat my shit." and dropped Chipotle on the passenger seat. He was gone for another 10 minutes and came back with Coldstone. That stoned.
HE'S FUCKING 19 YEARS OLD, HE CAN'T EVEN GET INTO A BAR WITH ME, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I'LL LET HIM IN MY PANTS?!
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