Now that the olympics are over we have no excuse for getting belligerently drunk for nationalism every night.
We always say that. And then its 4am and someone is screaming at strippers.
Her boyfriend only talks to me because I know her period schedule
the guy in the stall next to me, came in, farted, laughed, and proceeded to give himself some sort of hillbilly pep talk that included the phrase "big pussy".
It'll be like a meth lab. But with jello.
Sorry, they don't make maternity Power Ranger suits...
This is amazing. I can pinpoint the window in time that you lost all sanity.
Last night I was just holding this kitten up to my face for like ten minutes telling it that it couldn't be real
It's like that thing with the devil and the angel except one shoulder has orgasms and the other has stuffed crust pizza and depression.
I'm spending tomorrow doing taxes and making jello shots. Is this adulthood?
Don't let me publish my memoir unless "hurt my ankle drunk irish dancing" is at least the title of a chapter because that is really the whole story of my life.
I've finally given up enough on finals week to wear the same shirt three days in a row, because I didn't take my hoodie off for the first two.
As if I didn't already know that I was in the friend zone, our conversation that included the words "kiddo" and "old friend" really was a knee biter.
My soul is telling me that I need to take this exam naked.
You sat on me. Like I was a toilet. While I was on the toilet. You peed a little.
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