I'm playing wingman, but I want to pull a Goose and die.
Only your vagina holds the key to what happened last night.
Besides, I'm not in my 30's. I'm still allowed to drink wine from a bag.
I wont be hard to find. Im wearing a darth vader mask and I have a megaphone.
Don't remember shit. It was only until I saw the glaze on my forearm that I knew you drove to get donuts last night. I also spent 20$ there apparently
I was just expressing concern for your pickle consumption.
Just heard the words 'Pussy Riot' on NPR...I almost crashed my car.
I still think he fell and scraped his elbow and lost his credit card buying 8 hot chocolates for hobos
I want to get back to junior year skinny- without all the drugs.
He hasn't responded in 6 hours and the last thing he sent me was a picture of 7 grams of coke. I'm getting kinda worried
He pulled over in the Compass Bank parking lot so I could dry-heave, but I decided I couldn't vomit there because "I bank here."
I think John will remember that birthday for a while. I'm still dying at the fact a stripper was hunting me down.
The kitchen also doubles as a screaming room after midnight as long as you have something to muffle the sound
It started getting weird when you decided to scold my vagina.
He talked me out going to the bar. No one ever talks me out going to the bar..this is fucking love.
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