It's a Lindsey's Going to Jail Theme party.
I just told you I can't. My fingers are melting. I have discovered the high.
He told me that a camel appeared out of nowhere and it told him to quit smoking...
I gave him head and we watched Fashion Police. somehow it wasn't awkard.
It's Saturday night and I'm sitting on my couch by myself, watching Glee, and drinking gin and tonics. If you listen very closely, you can hear the wails of my mother giving up hope that I will ever give her a son-in-law.
I'm going to smoke the pathetic stems and miscellaneous particles that weren't good enough for all my other bowls because its all I have left. This is my bag's Rudy moment.
I know you've been in hospital with meningitis, but last night I walked into a streetlight and bruised my penis so who's really suffering here
I shit like a lady though so that rarely happens
I think I just found my soul mate...he's wearing a zebra striped onesie and is into Michael Jackson...I'll explain in the morning.
I have jizz, in my hair. I'm sitting in class with jizz. In. My. Hair. I need to make better life choices.
It's a shame, really, because he's got the cock of a horse... And the personality of dry toast.
I don't know whether to cheer for the free bourbon, or cry from the screaming children.
Well, if I'm gonna go gay, it's gonna be for NPH
Reminder to self: never have sex on a trampoline. Trampoline burn hurts worse than carpet burn.
Honestly, you can’t tell the whole sorority he has a donkey dick and expect that no one would sleep with him after you broke up
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