whatever sunny in Philadelphia does on Thursday nights, I'm doing all weekend.
Not cool at all. Last night I organized my condoms by expiration date. I need to get laid.
Covered in gravy. Never pour gravy while drinking.
So if you want this MFM threesome thing to happen the other guy is here and willing
In chronological order you drank, sang, smoked, napped, threw up, cried, laughed, described your pubic area, passed out. You have abused the privilege to use me as your D.D.
Oh we will ALWAYS be together. Or I'll have to delete my Facebook altogether. I've drunkenly boobie trapped photos of us into every album. There's no way I'd ever have the patience to go through that deletion process.
Fortunately for myself I'm twice as smart and half as drunk as everyone else. All things considered I'm leaving here three-to-five times richer than when I arrived.
While looking for an apartment, I've realized that the way I rate balconies is on the "how easy would it be to smoke weed here" scale.
What other scale is there?
With your fertility you would just get contact pregnant
You should kill a bro for me and drag his carcass home so I can study him.
BECAUSE THIS IS AMERICA AND DONUTS AND TITTIES AND ALCOHOL IS WHAT THIS COUNTRY WAS FOUNDED ON
I'm not leaving my family to go to a strip club on good friday.
My hot gay tattoo artist grew a beard and I'm not taking it well.
I couldn't find my hair brush so I just brushed my hair with a cat brush. I should not be dating.
My sinuses still burn from snorting red wine last night.
Randomize
