I just spent the last hour reading customer reviews on amazon.com for the book "it hurts when I poop." Send help.
He called me "the Joe Montana of blowies." Not sure if that is an accomplishment or an insult, but going off of the amount of condensation on the windows of my car, I'm gonna just do a little touchdown dance and pass out.
They thought we spoke German and French even though we just kept repeating "I give to you a cat" and "Are you drunk?"
high enough to want to lick peanut butter off of Michael Buble's vocal chords as he serenades me.
He's more than prepared to help us move. Dude brought sunscreen, cans of Coke, and Captain Morgan.
He returned my car yesterday. Found a duffel bag with beef jerky, condoms, and a handgun this morning. Slightly concerned
Sidenote: do you recall your "give me the d" chant
Should I go sleeveless of strapless?
Hmmm, it doesn't matter. You're gonna be topless by the end of it.
75% of my food budget goes to wine, the rest to chips and salsa.
We broke up. And I told him he better give me my fucking star wars movies tomorrow. Priorities.
Remember the time you cried about coconuts
You don't know bruises until you've been banged by 3 drunk bagpipers in the back of thier bus
I hate political talk. I just wanna get fucked into an alternate universe where Bernie Sanders is president.
i doubt you are even in possession of a crowbar.
I suggest you not find out the hard way
Every day I wake up and there is no spectacular morning wood waiting for me I get so sad.
Randomize
