the only difference between me and a prostitute was that i complained a lot more.
she woke up, said "please dont tell me your name, i dont want to remember it"
In my junk email folder, there are literally 67 messages from Alcoholics Anonymous. What..the fuck.
you said you were a responsible adult. then you licked the wall.
I don't care what anyone says I want strippers at my funeral.
new plan: i think the keg will fit in my purse.
i feel like i am carryihg a baby. a baby made of alcohol.
This santa hat i wore to the bar, served it's dual purpose as a vomit bag.
I take it we used my cleavage as a pen holder last night during the graffiti party. Looks like the colours of Crayola exploded all over my chest
Oh my god. A memory of last night just came to me. One of our neighbors joked about Thomas having a big dick and I just kept shaking my head profusely.
I literally was just rolling on the ground and said to her 'this is what dying looks like'
I'm going to start referring to my liver is Livy. I feel like if I give it an affectionate nickname it will hate me less. Livy isn't ready for syllabus week.
I think we all know your liver needs a man's name.
I want to go to a gay rodeo for my cross country road trip. It'll be like my very own homo country boy pilgrimage to the holy land.
The time stamp on this text message is reason enough alone to not leave me unsupervised
And on the 323rd day without sex, God finally said let there be light...or love?
Randomize
