if any two of us come back from the bar and aren't getting laid we will systematically destroy everything in the kitchen
you were crying because peter frampton wasnt your dad
Just look for the house with the beer knights.
At this point, I really just need a sign in sheet for my vagina.
I've been alternating between telling people I was mauled by a bear or hit by a car to explain the massive unexplainable bruise on my leg. Slightly more worried now that the car idea is believable.
Nice. Don't spend your therapist's co-pay on Jaeger bombs.
wanna mail me your GoPro for St.Patties and I'll mail it back to you coverend in puke?
In case you're wondering where my head is at right now, it's wishing that I was getting laid and not having a debate about cheese.
This amicable friendliness is dull. We either need to start fighting or fucking around. I'll even let you pick.
She unfriended me on Facebook after I responded to her long love note with #demtittesdoe. Jager is the goddamned devil.
I fell asleep giving a handjob, had a sex dream about giving a handjob, and woke up giving a handjob. Life.
That falls under the "unwelcome penises" category. Also that's definitely a sentence I never thought I would say
90% sure I just opened a snapchat of you in a fuzzy bathrobe next to your ceiling collapsing
I felt the need to set off fireworks in the living room while they were having sex upstairs. Yes, they quieted down.
Oh, do you remember telling everyone you were with that your vagina was angry last night?
Randomize
