So I'm playing pool in my cowboy boots and some guy came up looks at my boots and goes, "you should've got the boots with the fur"
I want Jason Statham to talk British to my vagina.
I fed the cats at 7 am, made her eggs, gave her oral, and now I'm helping her clean and baking her brownies. Cosmos got nothing on me.
It's a lightpost hitting you in the head. Of course it's going to hurt the day after.
That's why we don't trade sex for Taco Bell. It's called the dollar menu.
Why is the clock ticking so loud? Now I know how Captain Hook feels.
You can't just be this socially awkward and sexually frustrated and jealous as a fucking demon and be expected to stay sober.
I got custody of our girlfriend in the breakup.
I'm smoking in a kimono on the couch. Bring me gin.
In retrospect, vomiting out of a moving vehicle on the third date should have been a deal breaker
I'm just drunk enough to be eating egg rolls on the toilet
I grabbed the pretzel bag with my toes last night. I think that day of yoga had paid off.
It's almost like he's actually taking my commentary and criticism to heart, but simultaneously succumbing to some primal urge to wear less clothing each time.
we are currently pregaming for our walk to the liquor store.
step one: admitting you have a problem. complete.
The whole country is going to hell in a handbasket but I got a grade A fucking and don't particularly care.
Randomize
