Last night was an abortion. I might need a publicist.
I wish i could make my toaster dance like they do in the second ghostbusters. But i dont have ectoplasmic goo. Or a toaster.
i mean, we fucked on the futon in the garage where his band practices. pretty sure im now obligated to like his band on facebook.
I just bedazzled my weight watchers points calculator. You can tell I'm gay.
If you would give me the chance we might have the two separate pieces of the greatest fuck puzzle ever.
Just puke n rally. People can't judge, it's syllabus week.
Would giving a bouquet of flowers to my mother be a good way to say, "sorry you walked in on my boyfriend eating me out"?
We have a nice shopping list..vibrators and roller blades
Priorities
So... I woke up on a bench with a honey bun on my chest.
If I was banging all the guys that people think I am, I'd quit buying batteries.
I'm sitting alone in a bar pretending to watch football because I don't know where the liquor store is around here and I'll be god damned I'm going to be sober on my day off.
I'm pretty sure the guy on the dance floor with crutches just smacked me in the butt with one. Do you think he's flirting?
I'm having a hard time eating my sandwich knowing how many different buttholes my hands were in last night.
I hate that I still want him to look at me as the vagina that got away.
Apparently I’m a terrible influence when alcohol is involved
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