So guy #2, the dancer, is programmed into my phone under the name H.uy. His number- 11 digits. I should have stopped drinking.
They should make a Rosetta Stone that allows men to understand what the fuck women are actually trying to say.
you are the best fuck buddy i could have, all the others get feelings and morals involved
so apparently dipping a tampon in red gatorade and throwing it out the window on the highway is a $100 fine
did you by any chance leave me that 7 minute long voicemail of you running and constantly tripping into bushes?
I'm cleaning my bathroom. That being said I found a klonopin and dropped it and stepped on it. Floor is clean im gonna snort it.
You just kept screaming at everyone 'not to break your scarf' and doing somersaults
dreams really do come true on the roof and drinking again
I never thought that it would get to the point where I would have to specify that by "hang out" I meant "fuck like rabbits." Growing up shouldn't be this way.
You made a glowstick headband with a helium balloon tied around it and climbed a tree in high heels. I was impressed.
I've injured myself in such a way that i am only capable of making love standing up now
The fact that you're allowing Santa to dry hump your ass is sort of a dealbreaker
Then me, her, and her mom snorted tequila. The bartender was in shock.
Came home plastered at 8am. Roommate had hot glued all the ashtrays and various items to their surfaces. Couldn't handle it. Went back to the bar.
Wait I can't come yet Mr. Brightside is playing
ok i defs just took my shirt off in the middle of a frat party though so keep me updated
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