I dont know whether to be proud of myself for not driving, or being proud that i was so messed up I couldnt drive
My main thought on the Olympics: I need LESS cowbell.
We broke the shower door. Completely off. His roommates were not happy but I sure was
you referred to yourself as the crossing guard because of your neon shirt and began directing bar traffic
he was spitting whole peanuts projectile out of his mouth at the waitresses as they walked by and then yelled across the restaurant that he had "no problem kicking any of their asses"
This conversation has now reached a level of awkward that even a passerby streaking hobo couldn't break.
I told you all we needed steroids to survive the tour de franzia, like the bikers. But nobody listened...
Everybody shut up a minute, we need to discuss how much nicer the world would be if pants weren't a thing.
I was mid-sentence and you stopped me and said, "Yeah.. for my vaginas sake, I'm gonna need you to stop talking right now."
It's like the blind leading the senile over here.
UPDATE: shit just got real- grandma is threatening to beat grandpa with a wooden spoon covered in chili.
Just stuck all that extra cocaine money we made in a savings account...like a responsible adult..
if my uterus stops caving in on itself long enough for me to be alive I'm there
will you help me invent vagina-safe pop rocks?
I feel like you should store your weed in something that suits your personality. For example mines in a hollowed out disney princess book.
Everything is scary i hate being an adult i hate responsibility tell me a dick joke
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