I'm calling you out on twitter if you don't come over right now.
hey my socially awkward cousin is our designated driver for summer, we just have to put up with her wierd shit.
it's amazing how much more room there is in my purse when I'm not carrying alcohol in it
hes a soccer player too.. you'd think he has better penis eye coordination
My heart is having a hard time convincing my vagina he's not worth it.
bleeding from the face, sitting in a shopping cart and holding a wad of ripped caution tape. what else would i be doing?
Never thought I'd say this but I just want to go home, ice my balls, and pop a Vicodin.
You know we have no secrets, right? I mean, you saw me shitting in a gift bag drunk and naked on Christmas eve.
He has no idea he's waking up in slut palace tomorrow morning
I just moonwalked my socks off. THAT LAZY. THAT HIGH.
You spent the whole night conversing with your zombie poster, so I'd say you were pretty far gone.
I am going home. I have pee on my pants. Rachel is driving and I and drunk. It is not Rachels pee. It is my pee.
I'm not complaining, but why is it that every time I hang out with you I come home with random injuries and random girls?
Best news I’ve heard all day. Cookies and dick. What more could a girl ask for?
Nothing says “I spent too much in Vegas” quite like eating a jar of pickles for dinner and planning on cream of celery soup for breakfast tomorrow.
Randomize
