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.
I looked him in the face and asked if we could stop. he asked why. I said "I can't feel it.". ...I feel bad; I should have faked.
I don't remember coming home but there is cereal EVERYWHERE
The bong broke. we're having a little funeral followed by an inaugeration service for the new one
Even after projectile vomiting watermelon on the beach, it still sounds appetizing.
We both bought three foot bongs...going to race to see who can smoke a mile first.
I need to get skinnier so that I know when pregnancy scares are real...
The vagina on Hilton Head is mighty fine this time of year.
Although I am concerned about who made the decision to let you loose in a bridal show I am proud to see you in a sombero again.
We kept trying to bring you to the hospital but you had a tantrum and kept saying you would never be Miss America
She sucks enough dick that I could make her mouth a legitimate Yelp location.
cake and sex. what better combination is there.
You left your hot dogs in my dresser again
Your mom asked you why you had bite marks all over your arms and you answered her by yelling "I HAD A SIESTA!"
Probably some sort of karmic revenge for me looking at titties somewhere along the way
and for that you shall suffer
God: I won't strike you down, but I shall introduce your child to Doja Cat during a quarantine
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