I hate myself for knowing the words to party in the USA.
I get a nice feeling when i open my fridge and see it filled with thirty beers and half a leftover jimmy johns pickle.
its totally unfair that im just as ill-prepared as a 16 year old but there's no tv show for 25 and pregnant.
I wiped my blood on their walls screaming "IT'S NOT MY SECURITY DEPOSIT!"
Security said no more parties of this kind. To me that translates to Theme party this weekend.
Oh btw, that was a wonderful blow job. You did a good job.
The cop told me to answer for everyone if there was drinking involved and then i threw up in my Luigi's italian ice that i was eating with a pizza slicer
What can I say? I like my food like I like my women, not entirely fucked by our contemporary world.
Boobs speak an international language.
I'm glad the semester is over. I need a break from the term "whiskey sharts" coming up so much in conversation.
I'm going to stop at grocery on the way home. I'm CRAVING wine from a sippy cup. We have neither wine nor sippy cups.
He compared my blow job skills to finding gold treasure in a gold chest, so there's that.
My fridge door just caught on fire somehow.
You thought you were Snapchating on your tablet, but were really just poking John Stamos' face on my Full House dvd case...
Feel free to drag me back to reality at your convenience
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