Dude, you were so drunk last night that when we went into subway, you forgot the word for bread.
i just made a "things you cannot forget to do this week just because you're high" list.
She's like the little sister I never had ... except for the fact we're having sex.
he wrote me a grocery list while i was passed out. every other item was gin. it went on for 4 pages.
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I can't talk to her. I know entirely too much about her genitals to hold a conversation without mentioning them.
You know when you blow me it's the softest, most amazing feeling ever. Like putting my dick in a silk bag filled with puppy ears.
She once gave me sex advice over the phone while intoxicated. So no you don't have the cooler therapist.
I wish men found my impeccable aim when spitting into the sink attractive.
I just dumped the bloody coke bill into the tip jar while getting my hangover coffee. I'm literally going to hell.
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At least I know that however bad my life gets and how low I can feel I'll never feel shitting in a red robin parking lot low
And now I'm taking a break sitting on the bathroom floor thanking god that people who eat at subway are either too classy to piss on the floor, or are still relatively sober enough to not piss on the floor before 5pm.
We are the best cocktail. We look appealing, taste amazing, and ruin lives.
You don't usually get feedback after a one night stand... But you hit it out of the park. I'm proud to call you a friend.
I literally have a pirate chest of slutty clothing.
Why did I wake up next to the fire pit? And who wrapped me up like a burrito?
Jägerbombs. Thank Sara.
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