As I walk through the valley in the shadow of the frat house, I will fear no standards, for my vodka and whiskey they comfort me. TSM.

“Do you have any hot friends?”
“All my friends are hot.” TSM.

Remembering the night by what you wore, not what you did. TSM.

Last one to get ready. First one to get drunk. TSM.

Sometimes, I wonder how all those drunk girls I’ve bonded with in bathrooms are doing. TSM.

“Drunk calories don’t count, right?”
“No, and drunk words don’t either.” TSM.