Rooftop That Bitch
Motherfuckers, I am hung over as fuck, but it’s okay because my phone got stolen and returned, and I rode in the slowest horse and carriage known to man and failed to get to the roof of a hotel.
"What do you think? You wanna rooftop it?"
"Is rooftop a verb now? If so, then yes. Let’s rooftop this bitch."
And we didn’t make it, but that’s okay, because for fuck’s sake, I remember what it feels like now to try. To break the rules that don’t matter.
And some that do, like "don’t drink that fucking much on a week day." uuuggghhhh
loser
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I mean, you might be a loser for not making it to the roof, but you’re a winner for trying. My favorite thing about Whistling Boy was how he was such a terrible influence. Oh that door says Do Not Enter? Who cares, we’re going. Oh there’s a board over this ladder to keep us from climbing it? Fuck that. Oh I’m in a committed relationship with you? Come on over, I’m fucking someone else… ~I’ll be
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RYN – Haha, no, he didn’t invite me, I drove past his house (you can see his house from the interstate, it’s not like I drove through a neighborhood…) and noticed a car there (and he doesn’t have a car!) so I stopped by to be like, Dude why aren’t you answering your calls or texts? Oh, it’s ’cause you’re about to get busy… ~I’ll be
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🙂 Sounds like fun. Glad your phone made its way back to you! People surprise me sometimes. In a good way.
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