a.k.a. fuck you for judging how much I drink.
My liver and I, we don’t see eye to eye (and, on a different note, fuck your brain for reading Fifty Shades of Grey).
Agreed. That’s why fake people choose designer drugs and real people go for the alcoholic golden ticket.
A hard-hitting question.
And so, I am an alcoholic because you’re never not boring otherwise.
How to drink a Colt 45 (or anything else with any alcoholic content).
That’s what I’m counting on.
True story.
We all need to pass time on the train somehow.
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