It was like a secret agent hookup. No names, swift execution, get in- get out.
woke up at my desk with a paper in front of me that says "people stranded on islands love having wet dreams" what the fuck happened last night
I woke up next to her this morning and couldn't remember her name. Luckily, she had written it on my hand so that I could add her on facebook.
when my professor asked "does anyone know what streches across south america" and a kid in the back row said "my exgirfriends vagina" i knew i was at home.
She got subburned last week and her bikini ties in the middle...when I took off her shirt, there was a sunburned bow between her boobs. Like a present. Happy birthday to me!
She puked in the bank of America parking lot? Awesome.
Yeah, figured I'd deposit my check while we were there.
Some ambulance just rolled up to this bar and this girl just hops out of the back and walks inside
I don't know if it's the amount i drank last night or the number of taylor swift statuses on facebook but i feel like puking everywhere
I've never been to a "going away to jail" cookout. do we bring a present?
The entire state will know me by my boobs.
Did you have ill-advised lesbian sex on the deathbed of their relationship?
Of course. Go big or go home.
You're my fucking queen.
all I'm saying is that my epic blow jobs have made grown professional football players cry in ecstasy
So here's a brief summary of my weekend: last night I drank four glasses of Death Punch, grabbed the toaster, said "This is mine", put it in my pants and walked out the front door.
Fun. You missed it. Michael broke a door with his erection.
These random guys found me. They told me not to wander in the woods and i remember saying 'am i fucking Bambi?! I'm not gonna walk into woods!' then i threw up.
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