Yours is on the dinner table...mine is in my underwear drawer.
I think I died a long time ago.
I woke up this morning and I couldn't find my coffeetable. wtf?
Conclusion from last night: Sometimes being classy isn't as fun as making out with a guy on a pooltable in a bar. Happy birthday, Canada.
you came home soaking wet, and when I asked where your umbrella was, you pulled it out of your bag and were so proud you kept it dry.
just looked in the mirror, I fell asleep with a face mask on. At least drunk me cares that much about the condition of my skin
I feel like the only solution to this is to get naked and lay in the shower for a hour then see what my penis wants to do.
I am particularly sorry about getting dome in your backseat. And for thinking you wouldn't notice.
The fact that both my ribs are severely bruised from shoving flasks in my bra might be a validation of my mothers alcoholic accusation
seriously considering responding to a craigslist ad for a lesbian cunninlingus instructor...at this point i'm so desperate for a job that i'm willing to switch teams.
you know you're a senior when your friends are at the bar before you even get out of class
why the fuck would you go to class? it's karaoke wednesday.
If making out with three guys at once at a Kesha concert while simultaneously smearing glitter all over yourself doesn't convince her you're gay, nothing will
We watched the first ever season of SNL and fucked for so long. He accidentally punched me in the face, but I mean, John Belushi was the background noise of our sex. I can deal with it.
What are your thoughts toward getting nasty in a minivan?
It's Scottsdale, it shouldn't be this hard to find drugs.
Randomize
