All he was doing was sitting in the car, staring. We asked him what was wrong and he just turned, smiled, and said "everything has its own pair of boots"
It looks like someone bombed the living room with his and your clothes, bra, packing peanuts, nerf gun and ammo, rc helicopter, leftover chinese food and a leather paddle.
Porch rule of tonight: when you sing, you must use "something" as a microphone. The person to use the most "creative" object gets the door prize...so far Stephie is winning with Jennifer's dog.
We need to go back to the barter system so I can sell my body and just be done with it.
Maybe it's just my body's way of telling me I don't need pinky toes. Like I'm the next evolutionary leap or something...
You don't understand. This could be the last time I shave a star into my vag. Get over here.
Need you on the dancefloor. Hungry and lonely.
Matt you can be anything you want to be. Including the awesome guy that brings pizza to a bunch of stoned and sorta drunk kids.
Talking to her is like watching "Bad Life Choices: The Movie"
I wish drunk me came with subtitles
I barfed on the cat last night. Just wanted to share.
I wish there was a tumbleweed emoji. Because that would describe my vagina.
But I put cranberries and apples in my wine so it's festive drinking not suicidal drinking
There's nothing like a guy talking about your vagina as if it's delicious food to make your day better.
If the people you’re with use the word tequila in a sentence with phrases like hair of the dog or breakfast of champions...run awsy
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