mornings like this make me wish i was morman.
I got oddly confused when she started talking in third person in bed.
you threw up in the oven last night. i found that out after i preheated it to cook a pizza.
I just asked my hair stylist how many percocets she'd do my hair for.
I guess I gave him a 20 minute play-by-play of the first three sections of R. Kelly's 'trapped in a closet.'
You're gonna die alone anyway. Even if you do meet a man, they die earlier than women. Best case, you have to deal with grieving over his death and then die alone a couple years later. Worst case, you get a terminal illness and he divorces you, leaving you to die alone anyway.
Thanks, mom.
You could probably play six degrees of separation of my cock in this city.
i should do something illegal before my birthday. as of thursday im old enough to go to jail.
Send me the picture of my mugshot, my boss got arrested last night and I'm trying to make her feel better.
It feels like im being cuddled by a thousand little smurf vaginas
So I'm thinking about sending him some "sorry I almost peed on your computer" cookies. Thoughts?
You were fine, but your knee injury definitely came from interpretive dancing like a gay fairy with lead wings all around the Mission St BART. Everyone thought you were on drugs.
Not many people can say they've been photo bombed by an antelope. I sure did.
I tried to help you up but you said "let me dance it off"
I got a pots and pans set and a vibrator. Merry Crisis.
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