please tell me that the half empty jar of cocktail sauce on the table has nothing to do with my missing seamonkeys
You kept calling me your small dog last night.
You'll be the guy with the raft that sells burritos on the river. You'd be legendary.
He doesn't make grammatical errors. Even while getting head.
This is so pathetic it makes me miss snorting lines alone in my room listening to 'one more drink'.
Tell Taylor to rock on. Tell her she is so beautiful that the sun shines down on her face and shows her beauty. Tell her to live on, like Martin Luther King. He'll never die. He's living his dreams.
It'll just be like "PENIS HERE". In case you get lost.
He set two of my ex boyfriends on fire at two different bars without anyone knowing it was him or how it happened either time. He might be a fucking super hero
I mean, they were small fires and no one got hurt, but still. Awesome.
Sweating vodka and spray tan, I feel like a trophy wife.
He came over to use the microwave, said he needed to heat up some urine.
That awkward moment when the dude you blew on camera in college friend requests you on Facebook.
Who is this?!????
That awkward moment when you think you're texting a friend the above statement, but instead you text a stranger.
okay, but you can't tell anyone. Every time he instagrams something with the caption "avocado," it means he's booty calling me. Happy?
My car has a permanent smell of sex to it now.
I didn't even respond. Just letting the crazy settle before I calmly fuck his shit up.
Of course I fucked her, her man stole my bike when we were kids
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