When I meet a new girl, I'm terrified of mentioning something she hasn't already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.
he cracked the bottle of jager at 11am and said "hey, its Saturday and I gotta do something"
bubblegum was invented today. we're getting drunk. end of story.
I knew it was time to leave Waffle House when you started singing "What's Your Fantasy" to your hash browns.
I'll see your cousin, and raise you a sister.
This is ridiculous. It's like playing possible STD Clue, and I don't want to be the winner.
The first clue should've been that he literally had shit in his hair. How does that even happen?
My wedding band has saved me from at least four cases of herpes tonight.
I have her designated blowjob hair tie on my wrist. It's like a key to eternal happiness
I like that we've become good enough friends again that I can make fun of your penis without it being awkward
He looks like he's going to feed me a taco and then stab me. It's probably a good idea he's a lawyer
I'm pricing out a roll of that wax butcher paper. We fuck too messy and I can't afford to wash them every afternoon.
I need to stop acting like a drunk bitch. People are going to get the right idea about me...
HE MIGHT HAVE YOUR BUTTHOLE, BUT HE CANT HAVE YOUR HEART. THATS MINE.
You told me you were going to invite all of your Tinder matches to the same bar on the same night and make them compete for your affection in a series of Lust Olympics. Winner gets laid.
Randomize