So yesterday I was on craigslist and I saw a listing for a sofa-cum-bed. I knew what they meant...
she's naming her girl london marie
that kid will be born with a tramp stamp
The crazy thing is, I dont actually know where the cat is, she said something bout the back of the toilet and a sock.
My poo smells like dog food. That's how I know it was a good night.
I feel as if I owe my bloodstream some tequila.
Fuck him tonight for the both of us. We're still tag-teaming in spirit.
Who faxed a picture of their penis to the office printer?!
Now back to adults eating hotdogs.
Just saw a drunk bitch in the west village peeing on a car. You are not alone.
IDK DUDE BUT HE TIED IT WITH A SHOELACE SO I GOTTA FREE SHOELACE OUTTA THE DEAL. THIS GIVES A NEW MEANING TO LACED DRUGS
PLEASE. I won't throw up on the floor this time. Or fuck in the bathroom. Or dance on the pool table. So PLEASE.
It was only funny because some guy across the street was getting his mail and he just stopped and watched me throw up everywhere
I just ironed my gstring.. this is please fuck my brains out on a whole new level.
No, and she still hasn't answered me...I get a whole series of text messages about Guatemalan anal bleaching but no fucking answer to my question.
We have angered the beer gods. It feels like I'm shitting angry cats.
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