My lunch today consisted of going on the brewery tour with my boss. Free pretzels and two free beers.
I hate you.
To be fair, the beers are only 8 ounces each. So maybe you just kinda dislike me.
I believe that I finger-banged my way to the top of the corporate ladder.
She soaked the fruit in vodka for ten minutes and then mixed it with normal fruit and sherbert icecream. It was called "lottery fruit".
Only thing I know is apparently I danced with a bouncer and we got a ride back from a valet who was driving one of the cars he was supposed to be parking
He called it restless penis syndrome. I call it cheating.
Just had that moment when you realize the two drunk women shoving all their money down your clothes were your middle school teachers...
It's like a booty call, except its for tacos...and you're my brother.
I would just like to point out that someone I had sex with drove me so I could have sex with you. I deserve some type of "most loyal booty call ever" award.
Does me being hung over take away from how professional I can be today?
I feel like I got hit by a truck. And I vaguely remember getting into an argument with a passive aggressive Ron Burgundy in a onesie- grown man, not a baby- about the pronunciation of New Orleans
IT'S LIKE LOOKING INTO GOD'S VAGINA!!!!
There we go, I shall begin my attempt to achieve whore status today
I haven't answered because I haven't figured out a polite way of saying fuck no
I really regret not asking “like a cupcake” when you asked me to eat your ass
You’re going to be a doctor, and I’m going to be a trophy wife. We both have goals
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