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Unlikely Things I’ve Said on a Night Out

The following are things I’ve said and/or written down on recent nights out. Yet still I drink.

Gays can sense other gays. It’s like when you’ve petted another dog and your dog just knows.

Let it be noted that sober Topher went out on his own volition and regrets everything.

I hate meeting ‘Twitter gays’ in real life. It’s like, I don’t have my band of followers behind me, and anything I say isn’t going to get an RTs. I also can’t use an app that makes me look less like a troll in person.  I’m so painfully mediocre in real life.

A drunk hobbit-looking lesbian is descending the stairs at such a drunkenly snail-like pace I fear she’ll never make it to Isengard.

There’s a really weird smell here; I don’t know if it’s because I’ve waded into a cesspool of STDS or if I’ve just spoken too much shit tonight.

Friendly reminder: Topher, you’re white.

I’ll describe her using canines as a comparison: Bitch!

Ooooh, eyebrow on fleek (singular.)

Switch to beer; it’ll add masc points.

I have seen his penis and let me assure you I would not have sex with him. It would be like having a truck drive through your asshole.

‘Candy Shop’ just came on and it’s another solid reminder of how Caucasian I am.

Someone has taken it upon themselves to spray a much needed blast of air freshener around. The reek of regret and unwashed private parts has subsided (for now.)

Justin Bieber is not R’n’B.

00:21: My friend has just bought me a tequila shot. He seems blissfully unaware of the carnage that is about to ensue.

The bass is incredible tonight; I feel like I am being penetrated by some sort of Musical Deity.

Took another shot – it’s like a warm hug sliding down my throat.

Two gays are fighting in the toilet line. They verbally claw at each other in such a way that it reminds of two starving, stray cats fighting out over a tin of tuna.

Some guy that looks the spit of Bruce Wayne from Gotham just danced past me. I know it’s not him though because I follow him on Twitter. I’d be privy to such information. Also, he’s like, 13.

Confession: I am actually Shakira.

Why is he looking at me like I’m on an episode of The Undateables for the troll community?

Think of your tall babies.

I keep touching my hair with my pizza hand. I am adding more grease to this situation.

Drinking is really a place holder for a relationship.

You’re so tall your head is touching the ceiling. You could even be the support that is keeping the building up.

*something in faux-French*

I kissed him once. His tongue felt funny; like I was licking brillo pad or something.  

 

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