I feel like if I were on Intervention, I would have to be a season finale.
First date. He's wearing a tuxedo shirt and keeps asking me about our future children. Escape plan #3 is now in action...
Wedding update: no alcohol, 75% of people have left, no one is dancing, no single groomsmen, and it's 5:30. I'm going the fuck home to drink by myself.
Eventually the creepy theater major quirks will come out. Probably in bed. Like role playing as the Phantom of the Opera
I can't come tonight. Someone took a shit in the dressing room. A.) Clean it up or B.) Kill myself. Text back with your answer.
Come out Saturday. It's for my lesbian daughter from the future birthday.
I'm the only one who goes to a bar and leaves with an extra twenty bucks and a pumpkin.
You won't wear your Santa suit, I can't get trashed, and you won't use handcuffs! This is the worst Christmas EVER.
Champagne pong turned into an expensive and painful experience.
I am an advanced cybernetic robot sent back in time to 2013 to fuck my wife senseless for hours on end. Have you seen this wife?
Eddy, if you don't want to roll play then say so. This is just obnoxious
I ran into a wall that clearly had things popping out. My eyebrow was bruised, both arms, the bottom of my foot. Lost half of my finger nail, my fake eyelash was stuck in my hair and I have about 47 blurry pictures of a half naked zombie DJ.
He's talking about feelings now. I don't even know if he came???
Mass text: You have all failed me. How have the people I loved so much let me go so long in life without ever eating a McRib sandwich?!
I texted him: “Come over for the Super Bowl. I promise lots of scoring.”
My divorce is turning into a porn script
Nothing kills the mood like opening another guy’s dick pic in bed
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