I think I just was a dick to Paul Rudd.
What's wrong?
Long week. Sore muscles. Bad back. Hangover. Mini-keg. Crazy ex-wife. Unavailable love-interest. Dead celebrity families. Republicans.
Pussy.
her orgasm sounded like a fucking walrus crying.
I feel like if I were on Intervention, I would have to be a season finale.
Would it be inappropriate to do lines in front of the cable guy?
I drew a venn diagram at the top of my final comparing stuff i know and stuff on the test.
we may have ended up at a gay bar on accident. we're gonna work this to get free drinks.
The saltiness of my tears mix perfectly with the tequila.
pretty sure I offered to blow her dad. she's not speaking to me & he won't stop winking at me.
Oh, and thanks to you. I'm now stuck in the living room, held hostage, listening to my roommate's "How I discovered I was bi" story. FUCK YOU.
My arms are sore from holding up pukeahontas for so long
I COULD BREAK CONCRETE WITH MY FOOTBALL ERECTION.
what a fun peer-pressure-filled weekend
I'm not even 100% sure what it is, but if it involves Thor and Doritos, I'm in
Nothin much, just sipping warm franzia from a plastic valentines wine glass while wrapped in my Mexican blanket listening to sappy country songs and mourning my lack of a love life. Hbu?
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