In a tragic sexting typo, I typed the word "blobjob". Now she's coming over and I have no idea what I'm in for...
You know what my problem is? I'm like a machine designed for the sole intention of removing the pants from damaged girls.
Pretty sure I'm going to hell because of our friendship
Last one there wins
Tiny.
I mean tony. It's like autocorrect knows he wasn't well endowed.
Is the booze for tonight or the apocalypse?
Both. Pregaming the zombie party and hurricane sustenance.
Was it you who made out with a toothless guy last night?
Then you bent down and whispered, "excuse me mr. Stair, could you please stop moving?"
Hey, I told her the bathroom was a "No fly zone" after I used it. She willingly allowed her nose to go through that pain. It's her fault, she only supplied me with vodka when she knows I only drink rum.
I dealt with the imported moonshine, but when the cocaine came out, I had to get the fuck out of there
Of course I understand. Thou shalt never turn down a free meal or drink. It's one of the commandments of being a girl.
I remember sitting in your lap naked saying I don't want to be all looks while you gently rocked me back and forth
Let's put a bunch of beers in a backpack and shotgun them in a Red Lobster bathroom
I had sex with him in the back of my car in a duck onesie. I'm worth something dammit.
I felt I lost my designated buddy on a field trip when you wandered off to get high with strangers.
That isn't the worst part. It got a bazillion times more awkward when he read me a poem he wrote about his dead cat.
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