Last night was epic. Hooked up with Emma Watson, found twenty bucks, and then passed out on my floor.
No you didn't. You drank unbelievable amounts of 151, passed out in someone else's bathroom, and we carried you back to your floor. Nice dreams though.
i love when people i haven't talked to since we fucked write on my wall.
dude, boobs are like the porridge in goldylocks
i introduced myself to everyone by my new name, thundergooch. i threatened the neighbors with a hammer when they used my real name. needless to say, sailor jerry was not kind to me.
dont iron anything. we fucked on the ironing board. details to follow.
It blows my mind that pandora doesn't have an : I want to lay in bed in the dark and be sad and cold and eat frozen mangos and chipotle all day station
Black out Jordan is making huge strides. I didn't even pee on anyone or anything last night.
Got robbed by an ATM. My weekend officially sucks.
A homeless man just offered me vodka. The power it took to deny it deserves an award.
I've got to stop being so hungover that I puke in the fine establishments of this glorious town.
How do I convince my friend not to get tattoo tributes to her cats?
WHO DOES THAT
I told her it'd send up tons of red flags and she responded by telling me they're her babies. And she's sober.
I feel like dick that good should always be within a five kilometre radius of me.
Do you think they manscape in the zombie apocalypse?
Whoever jacked off in MY pong room on the bean bag with your fucking googles pick up your fucking cum towel you gross disgusting fucks. I said NO MORE jacking off in that room. I swear I will empty it out if this is going to continue.
It wasn't as awesome as they lead everyone to believe. No stripper. Ran out of booze. The chipmunk. He was real.
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