There's an amish chick decked out in amish clothes on a cell phone staring at me.
Pretty girls always come out on top. Or bottom. Whatever. Point is we come out with their boyfriends.
she insisted that i refer to her boobs by name.
You were hugging the toilet and shouting "don't let fatty eat me" through the closed door.
its the kind of pain that only someone with a fucking elephant on their head would understand. I'm never drinking again.
She's like an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, tossed in miller light, inside a question. Nobody can explain a Heather.
Come out Saturday. It's for my lesbian daughter from the future birthday.
I'm semi drunk. I just bought you penis moisturizer. Not kidding. Keep an eye out for the package. Merry Christmas.
Pro: she asked me to be a bridesmaid. Con: i only have about nine months to get over a phobia of midget strippers.
I apparently used the line "I'm a bouncer too so i would know if I were too drunk" then they asked me to leave.
It takes a special kind of Adderall to make me go to the hardware store, buy paint, and paint tiny polka-dots on all four of my bedroom walls.
You threw your body across the gross couple hooking up on the couch and demanded they scratch your back. I love you drunk on peach schnapps
Note to self: don't try to shave your legs when sex-sore. You CANT reach, stop trying.
She sent me a video of herself sitting in the car stone faced listening to the Titanic song on silence. She won't answer my texts.
Don't do it. He's got a dick the size of a baseball bat. You don't want that commitment.
I have to. For the sake of science.
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