Wow. Thanks for becoming another fan of something on Facebook. You make me want to gouge my eyes out.
Ya know, I lied. I wouldn't mess with him. Not because of the crazy/rehab issues... but because he wears tank-tops.
Actions speak louder than pants.
I can't remember if the bartender cut you off after you broke your glass or after you wished the bar a happy winter solstice during your karaoke number.
woke up with the bag of wine duct taped to my shoulder.
We enjoyed our moment of partial gayness together
you were telling us about the time you had sex in an alley and he stopped, looked up and said 'it was a cul-de-sac' and went right back to what he was doing.
The molly dropped while I was taking a shit. Do you have any idea how scary that is?
That does not seem like timing
I think he's hit rock bottom. You know it's a low point in life when you cry because you weren't invited to sit in a box car and watch porn with two other straight dudes.
No celebraish? But today's the day that Jesus, Bruce Springsteen, and a flock of bald eagles came down from the heavens in fighter jets with electric guitars and M-16s a blazon, saying "Hey America, fuck the Red Coats, it's time to party"
Be my booze princess bebe. I'll rescue you from the lame tidings you are confined to up in the sober castle.
But can mardi gras accurately capture the essence of my tiny rage?
He fucked me on the hood of my car outside his work, and now I'm paranoid that the doggie day care next door might have security cameras.
There's a weed, money and oreo filled pinata promised for our party.
Is there a reason why your pubic hair is a plastic bag on my bathroom floor? And yes I know its yours... You wrote your name on the bag
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