Our relationship is like that beach boys song "help me Rhonda" and I'm fucking Rhonda. And Rhondas's the whore in case you've never heard it.
My family just suggested tequila shots. I had Vietnam style flashbacks.
Just found out that wake n bake is not one of the 7 habits of highly effective people..
It was the gentlest way I could hit on a girl who just got hit by a car
I just want a box on franzia all to myself. Just me, my wine, my tears, & my self loathing.
We started hooking up and a group of freshmen outside my window started chanting my name. Encouraging yet distracting
drunk enough to drink jager bombs out of a bowl on the kitchen floor.
Rain ponchos don't count as shirts at the bar. FYI.
I'm pretty sure at any given moment you could wring out my liver and get a couple of shots of jäger.
He just had a handle of vodka with ice in it yelling at people hot august night mother fuckaaaaa and was pouring it on his face
Totally. Bang on. He'll be fine. He might cry into your perfect tits once in a while, but that's the price ya pay.
I'm going through what feels like a break up with beer. I'm emotionally distraught from it's lack of presence.
So is it your turn now to pretend like dating someone else would stop us from fucking?
He literally had a Trump sign in his front yard. I just can't now.
Why in the hell is there a guy dressed up as a horse passed out in our kitchen.
happy birthday!
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