I don’t know how to deal. Jesus, here we are at camp and there are no spitoons in this fucking spitoon. Yeah brah! Supercool! You pnched me in the face two or three times, it was a bobblehead moment, please don’t hit me any more. That was a joke, come on. On my blog. Liveblog. Drunk ok, bye.
 Pretentious love letter written for an imaginary girl imagined between NYC and SFO |  Sorry I Missed Your Party | Chinandega! | A New Kind of Love (or hate) |
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