ya ever know whats down there. always send some fingers in first to scout the situation. fingers are not used for pleasure. they're used for covert missions.
I need a secretary to manage my drinking schedule.
One question: Why is your trash can full of blood and pop-tarts?
Grad practice is like a live scrapbook of my drunken sexual encounters
After all the hair products he's stolen from me, he better fucking be gay.
Only I can have a panic attack in the back seat of a cop car and have them move me to the front seat.
She made a roadhead CD. Can I marry her?
God I feel like the rain man of hangovers.
Last time Jon threw a party I woke up on my porch, no shirt but 4 bras on, and "make better life choices" written on my stomach in sharpie
And then she sprinted three blocks through live traffic towards McDonalds screaming "THE GOLDEN ARCHES ARE CALLING ME"
also, sleeping with your chipotle guy sounds like a good idea until you want chipotle on your day off and have to look somewhat presentable to acquire said chipotle.
Not even official and he's cleaned my puke twice. His hotdog skills are an added bonus. I've got a keeper
Dude the little bong I just got fits nicely in the cup holder in my car. The gods approve of my habits.
I have rug burns on my nipples. Thanks for being an awesome wing girl.
My roommate just angrily told the cat he should have knocked, but that's not lockdown madness. They're always like that.
Randomize
