What's wrong?
Long week. Sore muscles. Bad back. Hangover. Mini-keg. Crazy ex-wife. Unavailable love-interest. Dead celebrity families. Republicans.
Pussy.
I hope you had to get up out of bed and walk across your room to check this text message
two words: eviction party
whenever I think of his sister, I just picture a chick with a huge beard
So I made him an imaginary sandwich and told him that the day I didn't have to fake it, neither would he.
In retrospect - making it rain salt all over our kitchen was not one of my best ideas.
She said i saw her in the study room, waved, disappeared, came back with a coke from god knows where, and slurred "i have a drinking problem but i ate grits"
She was surprised when she saw all our living room furniture was made from old kegs. It's like she's never met us before...
My vagina is depressed thinking about her future.
Shirley Temple died. We owe it to her to get dirty shirley wasted.
I don't know how that blunt survived being in your pocket all night but you pulled it out at 4 am in 7/11 and tried to fire it up. Zero fucks given
I need to wake up with a beard between my thighs more often, I'm a fucking saint.
This is the perfect outfit to do ketamine in, I must say
He chose me to be his birthday sex..theres a lot of pressure riding on this bang
I look over and the both of you are naked, and he's eating chicken nuggets off the floor
Randomize
