google image searching george stephanopoulos at 1 AM on a saturday night...once again
I found out he doesn't have a facebook, twitter, or myspace. So, I'm going to actually go to his house to spy on him.
After I told my husband the docter shot me in the ass, he said - oh they can but I can't?!
I've see this movie. You sext me after the bar and fall asleep mid sentence. Roll credits.
My clit ring got caught in his beard. Never. Again.
Look on the bright side. Now you know the number for poison control.
You crawled through a doggy door 5 times for a shot if cheap vodka.
you are never too drunk for berry picking
I have migrated to the couch. Minimal movement is still happening, but I should be mobile enough to go to the liquor store by eight.......so that good.
Help me. My dealer just asked me to have a child with him. Sat me down for a heart to heart "he's almost 40 and losing his shit cause he's single and wants babies" talk. How the fuck am I supposed to feel about this????
I swear going to your house is like going to a strip club, no matter what happens I get glitter on me.
You attempted what you called the "Long Island Heist", in which you shoved a half glass of Long Island down your pants and asked me to help you sneak it out. That drunk.
Fuck you and your fucking taquito's.
You kept licking my face. You said you were making sure I was real.
I love you so much and not just because your dick is perfect
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