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I'm too lazy to delete my drunken tweets from last night. I'm also too embarrassed to go back and read what I tweeted.
WebMD just told me to go fuck myself.
My head feels like a thousand miniature ponies are inside of it and they're all trying out for the lead role in a Riverdance production.
I'm never drinking again. And THIS time I mean it.
I can already feel tomorrow's hangover tonight.
Stick a fuck in me, I'm done.
Laying on the kitchen floor, drunkenly eating spilled marshmallows on a Saturday night is EXACTLY where I thought I'd be in my 30's. Yay me.
I can handle my alcohol, my alcohol just can't handle me.
Just made it rain up in this bitch by tripping on a rug and sending an open bag of miniature marshmallows flying across the kitchen.
If you guys are lucky, I'll pass out soon.
Am I still tweeting? Yup. Should I shut the fuck up? Yup. Do I give a fuck? Nope.
Only 24 more days left in 2013 to fuck one of your twitter followers.
Swearing on Twitter is my anti-drug. Come for the cuteness, stay for the rage. I say FUCK! a lot.