This is the worst date ever. Pls kill me. No, wait, scratch that, stick to the original plan of killing Paris Hilton, I'll live though this
I'm pretty sure my roommate has taken plan B more times than i've had sex. Not sure how that makes me feel.
Changed my sheets. Found a can of rockstar, crushed bag of tostitos, used tissues, and enough of both of our clothes to make a whole outfit.
Just hungoverly hit my funny bone with a hot straightener. Triple threat.
Don't lose. A little bit of my soul dies every time a beer pong game is lost.
Thank god for makeup because it looks like someone took a shit on my face
I masterbate to the thought of you. You totally aren't just a booty call.
I pulled out moves I did not even know I possessed, our fucking de-throned gods
Note to self: don't tell your girlfriends dad you can have his daughter in bed by ten and home by midnight. He doesnt find it funny
I wish there was a morning after pill for dominoes.
Is it awkward to pay for your boob job with scholarship money? Either way, it's happening.
I'm getting paid to get fucked up. How much better could this get?
I just saw your mom take a body shot off an undergrad, please tell me you're somewhere near by.
Woke up to find that I was cock blocked by no more than three people.
Her hand jobs are magic. They smell like vanilla and awesomeness. She made me forget how to walk
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