Yours is on the dinner table...mine is in my underwear drawer.
We can make salsa ya know, maybe even some hot sauce. That doesn't mean we're married.
He's the biggest piece of shit to ever exist. He's not even wearing shoes.
he asked if thats how we do it in the states..like there's cultural difference in fucking between canada and the us..
so...he totally just used scissors to cut up the weed. a wet paper towel to moisten the blunt....and a blow dryer so it wouldn't be wet. this dude either has the worst case of OCD or has the potential to be the next martha stewart.
started her walk of shame as my mom and dad walked through my common room door...my dad held the door for her and told her to have a nice day
You were hugging the toilet and shouting "don't let fatty eat me" through the closed door.
I feel like our lives always have been and always will be a never ending drunken rampage full of pregnancy scares and lost brain cells
i formally give you permission to eat me when i pass out
It's Wednesday. And it's about that time to remind everyone that my priorities from last weekend have not changed moving forward into this weekend.
One of the guys I danced with wanted to give me his number so I convinced him I had a photographic memory and that I would remember it.
All I'm saying is that any 24 year old guy who sends me a snapchat from the vantage point of his dick with the caption "hiding behind my weiner" is off my list potentially dateable guys.
There is nothing wrong with me introducing you as elephant dick. Nothing.
So many Oreos I'm regretting this decision already but I'm happy at the same time...The straddle is real
Struggle. Not straddle. I'm not straddling anyone.
At least he finally released me from his spooning oven of death...
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