I'm tuning in to watch Heidi Montag crash and burn on the Miss Universe Pageant. Somebody call 911. and I'm not talking about the Sean Kingston song.
He must be back home now. He moved his box of beer from her porch to ours.
Was awful. Wedding photos taken by a river with used syringes floating past. Had to ask the bride to put down a can of rum to have her photo taken.
If after tonight I can still walk on my own, take me to another bar.
I would convert to being a Republican and Mormon just to sleep with Romney's sons. The things I would to do them.
There was a time I was reining queen of Sunday funday... And at that same time I also weighed 20 pounds more, had the morale of a spearmint rhino stripper, and woke up most mornings asking more questions than fucking Barbara Walters. I think I just wrote my own epitaph.
Pizza and koolaid didn't even make me feel better. This hangover means business
We're now referring to our nightly Skype time as "strokes of genius." Long distance sucks.
Then you're three pancakes deep in regret.
I fell asleep giving a handjob, had a sex dream about giving a handjob, and woke up giving a handjob. Life.
I pulled you and a keg around in a wagon for like five hours and apparently everyone else remembers it but us.
I feel like you can't break up with someone on 420. It's against stoner code
If you could not mention to him that I slept with his best friend, that'd be cool of you.
I yelled out "blow jobs!" in my macroeconomics class. Ask me more about how my life is spiraling out of control.
That’s the third time this month he’s hooked up with a girl by telling her it’s his bachelor party, and he’s not even dating a chick let alone engaged.
Randomize
