I just broke up with my girlfriend lets go find strippers that need rent money.
I judge my drunkenness on my brickbreaker playing skills. I'm winning. Suck it.
"Morning after" poops are always like, interesting.
At what point in time did you decide the pot head with Taco Bell was more important than all your friends.
At about the same time you guys weren't burritos.
At least they aren't charging us for the broken diving board...
eating kraft dinner with my face. no forks.
I asked him if his doormat had a name, then proceeded to sit on it for the next 30 minutes while signing that magic carpet ride song from aladdin.
I think I'm getting too used to throwing up in the reception trash can. It doesn't even phase me anymore
I, soberly, gave myself a concussion trying to take a pic of my vagina. Fuck you and your hangover.
He's over here like "remember those pics you sent me a couple years ago? Those were hot." And I'm like "remember talking about what we were gonna name our kids a couple months ago? That was hot." Therein lies the disconnect
I only drink at bars with bathrooms big enough to have sex in.
Went as "Party on, Wayne." And left as, "Partied out Wayne in a foot boot with new medical bills." Fuck Halloween...and vodka.
HE PUT A HOLE. IN. MY. HOUSE!!!
I just had the polyamorous Canadian hockey player do the splits while naked in a handstand at my apartment just now. And yes, I know it’s 1:30am on a Thursday.
Can't talk, I'm icing "sorry I barfed on your couch" onto a cookie cake
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