Partly Cloudy, 64°
In a cringe-worthy scene from your phone this morning, it was reported that you quadruple-texted your academic advisor while shitfaced last night.
“Heyyyyyyyyyyy,” you opened as you tripped over the curb trying to make it to Jo’s, “wats concentration? Am you ther for me? Pls plese?”
“Sory Youre Drunk, and your my advertiser, and its darkout,” you continued, attempting to convey an apology for the late-night message, despite the ketchup spilling down your arm and french fries falling in your lap. “But I neeeeeeeeeeeed help. Kiss oxoxo. Let’s hangout soom. Love you!!!!!”
At press time, you made out with your Safewalker on shrooms.
