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 passed out in the bathroom with the door locked. Had to take a shit in your litter box. Don't worry, your cat buried it for me.
I hate it when she philosophizes drunkenly on my kitchen counter. not even sober do i understand latin.
I got you a housewarming gift. It starts with "A" and ends with "bottle of Jameson"
She may be a slut, but at least she's a dedicated slut. She's always super tan and has her shit shaved in really cool designs.
You know what I'm hearing? Blah, blah, blah, I have pneumonia, blah, blah, blah, I'm a quitter. COME OVER AND PUT YOUR PENIS INSIDE ME.
one minute he's happily playing with a lighter and the next thing I know, he's screaming and the swing set is on fire
I heard that clinking noise from behind me and I already knew you were whipping out a Smirnoff in class. Again.
The stripper told Tom to sort his life out
I didn't have cash to pay cover at the bar, so I traded the bouncer a Krispy Kreme doughnut i had in my purse
SOS... STANDING IN THE BAR NEXT TO MY BF AND THE GUY WHO I HOOKED UP WITH ON CHRISTMAS DAY..
Not only did I get the promotion, but last night after sex he took me outside and let me hold it for him while he peed in the snow. I made a heart. This week is going amazing
I started crying during a meeting at work and now I'm sitting on my couch drinking boxed wine at 1:30 in the afternoon. Fuck you too estrogen.
It was all going good until I realized she was wearing underwear with a butt flap. Mission aborted.
I love you.
Bad choice
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