Moving to Utah. Got sick of alcohol and have a severe wife shortage.
there was a trapeze. enough said
I just creeped all your pictures on Facebook -- it was like I watched you grow up right before my eyes.
i'm not sure when i reached "slam my own hand in the door" status but my half attached fingernail is not grateful.
Dude I reek of $2.50 pitchers, $1 off/pack marlboro cigs, and fear.
Fear?
FEAR.
We're going to shave my junk and take pictures of it wearing fake mustaches we found at the dollar store. They're uncannily realistic; much better than the cockstaches of my youth.
You need to tell him your pregnant or we need to stop playing doubles beer-pong. My liver is begging you.
I feel as though sleeping all day due to the effects of prescription painkillers paid for by union insurance made this the most American day ever for me
I'm dying. The alcohol is viciously exiting my tiny body.
Just fucked up my mustache shaving, gonna have to take it off because now it makes me look like a pedophile
FYI your old mustache made you look like a pedophile
But we only had three ninja turtles. So everyone that would ask us where Donatello was, we would say "what? He's gone? Shredder is at it again!"
Also, I've finally come to the point in the relationship when having sex with socks on is ok.
I'm going to tell you a beautiful word.
Fellatio.
I slept with six men with different nationalities this week. Who says I'm not a woman of culture?
I refuse to take any type of advice let alone love advice from a motherfucker who is missing 3 fingers from a Fucked up masturbating accident.
Randomize
