I miss Bob Barker.
Yeah, more like Douche Carey...
Your last day of twenties? OK. Then I'll give you til midnight. Then you turn into a pumpkin. A big, 30 year old pumpkin.
I woke up in her bed, she woke up in mine. Apparently there was a miscommunication after the 8th jager bomb.
And I'm also limping. I just wish that I had self control. I'm 23 for fuck sake and I'm sitting at work, with mascara down my face, vomit on my clothes and an unknown black substance on my tits. How will I ever find my Greek husband if I keep this up?
I don't judge her for getting booty calls at 2 in the morning, so she can't judge me for staying in friday nights and putting spray cheese on pringles.
Dear America, sometimes I miss your Everclear and its consequences.
I really need to create fewer "the time I was on drugs" stories for my future memoir, "my first year in San Francisco".
good luck with that
I like it when Amish boys stare at my boobs, even tho I can't tell if it's in appreciation or disgust. Rumspringa, mothafuckers.
You were naked with a chalice of Skittles vodka, singing along to Les Miserables.
Just made a bong out of a pineapple. So yes.. And champagne is about to be popped
Hes done the math! Hes calculated how much sex it's going to take to fuck 365 miles. Now thats a little brother im proud of. New resolutions are a go!
I'd like to buy a season pass to your dick please.
we had to follow your trail of clothes to find you.......
so then the cop took one last hit off our blunt and then drove off in his car and we just all stood there thinking, yea... that just happened...
as a self proclaimed hoe im ok with a lotta things but that is not fucking one of them
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