White coat. Heels.
3 st and 6 ave. One dollar pitchers. Look out world.
Spending my graduation money on an abortion. Welcome to the real world.
Yeah, clearly. And then we can float around my room on Christmas themed inner tubes. And drink, I guess.
how much ball-pain constitutes an emergency?
Fucken Tweens. They smelled like cotton candy and hand jobs my nostrils were offended.
I just got into the cab. It smells like weed and the driver looks like someone who may or may not be really talented at playing the saxophone. He also asked me my thoughts on porn when I told him I'm an actor. I might not make it home.
On second thought, is it weird that I scheduled a surgery that determines my fertility around lingerie football night? I might have fucked up priorities.
Absolutely not. I would have done the exact same thing.
Dude, where are you?
In back
of car
... whose car?
He walked in wearing nothing but a WWF belt and yelled "THE CHAMP... IS... HEEERE!!!"
Waking up early to fuck the hot DILF the day before Father's Day because I'm respectable like that
I found one of those wine glass confetti bits in my ass crack.
Walking into my bedroom & smelling stale sex & disappointment isn't how I envisioned being 39, in case you were wondering.
Some bitch is passed out in a pool of vomit. Fucking lightweight, it's only 8.30.
Oh, wait.. That's you.
What's your fascination with fucking to the Lion King Soundtrack?
Randomize
