Picture the opening band right now: euro, beer guts, one member in oversized hipster lumberjack apparel, the other in childsized american apparel and shorts. Singing in german.
Sometimes I wonder if my friend studies mystic Christian theology because he's afraid to come out of the closet. Evidently, it's okay to talk about God coming inside you, but not to say the same about dudes.
WTF why am I in the Atlanta airport?
I buy you gas. You blow me. Economics.
I wish we could tell the moving van to wait at the strip club for a while.
Lost gin update. Blackout me found and re-hid the bottle. Left a note to myself saying, "GOOD LUCK, SUCKER!"
You rubbing siracha on a cat with your feet is the opposite of what I want.
The best part of that night wasn't even the sex, it was listening to her explain to her boyfriend why she was naked in her room while I hid in her closet.
We finally have the house to ourselves and your out playing Lance Fucking Armstrong
Brian got his first ever blow job last night. We should make him a scrapbook.
Just got back from the tanning beds. I'm a lobster. I fear for the safety of my nipples falling off.
This dudes playing guitar and singing outside our window and he's like "ravioli is beterrrrrrr than tortelliniIii cause tortelliniiii is shaped like fucking ears"
Nope. I've found you care about two things in life: your momma and spreading your seed.
Hi you snuggled with me in my bed in a maid outfit
How are you feeling this morning?
Well, I just found day old puke in my bra, so I've been better.
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