Sry I called you an 8
I am about to get in a knife fight over a corn dog.
Todays life lesson brought to you by last nights half pitchers of cheap sangria: you'll never get the stain or the SMELL of sangria vomit out of your bedroom carpet.
For someone only wearing socks and a cast, I felt reallyy overdressed
Me either. I want to get 'chase a stray cat through the neighborhood in my hooker heels' drunk. And it's your birthday, so you have to get 'best friend holding your hair while you puke in the bar bathroom and cry about your life' drunk. In a feather boa.
Hey, I got 20% of the people home that I was responsible for. I can't be expected to do much more.
I think my hopes are too high for this one. The only other bachelorette party I've been to I was felt up by a Chippendale's dancer and smoked a joint with the party bus driver.
She can't meet us until 830...there's no hope for our sobriety at that hour
You know it's been a rough year when your therapist mouth is just wide open. And I didn't even get to the real issue!
You're tall, so I have high hopes for your dick.
He spelled Steven with "ph", needless to say my nose was almost bleeding from the amount of axe he was wearing.
Hungover in church. I can feel stained glass Jesus judging me.
I'm all set for mothers day, I let her beat me in beer pong.
Welcome to Missouri, the show me your genitals state.
Fucking hate kids. In particular I hate our kids.
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