I think we should urban dictionary "drive of shame." It involves a sprint to your car in his underwear and shirt, surreptitiously trying to put on your bra on at stoplights without attracting attention from neighboring cars, and lurking in your car a block from home so you can know when your roommate leaves for work.
Midget Michael Jackson impersonator dancing to Beat it in Penn Station almost caused me to miss my train. God, I
let's get her a shirt that says "i went to key west for spring break and all i got was this illegitimate child."
I'm covered in salsa and facewash. I think I'm doing something wrong over here.
all law school has taught me so far is how to fart quietly during lectures and how to out-argue the ice cream guy when he screws me out of extra toppings.
I think she's going to be dangerous to drink with, but I'm ready for the adventure.
I was wondering how I got the burn marks on my boobs and then I remembered....
The baked potato bra?
I believe in weed hangovers. To say the least.
Well, it's a fine line between people-watching and boob-staring. It's a gray area. But we're in Paris. Let's leave it at that.
i fell into a bathtub last night and broke the fall with my forehead. my forehead is bruised
he has a party story that rivals our "PTSD- soldier-with-a-knife" party story. I'm pretty sure this is part of some prophecy.
I'm warming McDonald's pies on my heater cause I'm too high for the microwave.
All I want is dick and wine.
My professor congratulated me on turning my assignment in early. I didn't have the heart to tell him I only passed it in early cause my sex plans got canceled for the night.
A fire alarm is going off in some building, people are running around naked and people are passed out in the MIDDLE of the sidewalk. If they ban parties again, I'm going to be pissed.
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