Just so you know, the bottle of red gatorade is NOT GATORADE. It is definitely someone's puke. I hope nobody else makes the same mistake I did.
My entire childhood was an ugly sweater party
I probably should have cut it off when he started putting queso on my nipples, but within ten minutes I was a self-serve burrito bar.
I already wrote the apology to my liver. He knows whats up
I need to find my pants, a way out of here, and a cheeseburger.
He just told me that he goes squirrel hunting. NO LONGER BANGABLE.
IDK who she called, but some guy came into the party, flying drop kicked Joe said never again. She has to invite him around again.
I AM OVERLY HIGH AND OVERLY AWARE OF MY TONGUE IN MY MOUTH
You stumbled in at 10am, half-clothed and still drunk from last night and yelled "well, its not called a walk of pride!", then passed out on the couch.
The nausea has returned and I can't handle such things to exit my body so violently
I'm thinking about slathering myself with peanut butter and going to the dog park. What's the worst that could happen?
It's not too terrible. You just got a little naked and broke your arm.
It's one of the few times I hit fuck it levels of not caring
I'm glad you still love me even when I change pants in the kitchen and demand you spoon me
As your boyfriend, I'm gonna congratulate you on winning that fist fight. But as a cop, I have to tell you to not do that again.
Randomize
