I seriously love my fucking boobs. They are so boobs.
I'm at work and it's 1:30. I need a beer. is that bad?
Welcome to every minute of my life.
I'm not sure how exactly, but this funeral has turned into a ridiculous night of drinking games
It was as if you forgot how to speak normally. All of your words came out either backwards or in song form
we spent fifteen minutes trying to convince you that you weren't locked inside of your car
I woke up this morning with a wristband and I thought I went to the hospital last night I actually went ice skating instead
I told him not to mix beer with his Dr. Pepper...his reply was "i'm a grown ass man i'll do what i want". Judging by the sounds coming out of the bathroom he regrets not listening to me.
I'm pretty sure there a million tiny ninjas in my uterus poking me with sticks.
Still slightly drunk, sitting in Hyde park village. Two small children are dancing and singing "call me maybe" on the fountain in front of me. Am I hallucinating?
Do you know how hard it is to be while you're high with a chuck Norris poster in the bathroom?
My mind's like "He's a sexist pig" but my uterus is like "YOU SHALL BEAR HIM STRONG CHILDREN"
dude, she has my telletubby sweats and my good sweatshirt hostage, I can't risk their safety with a breakup
Funny you say that, I just sold my stripper pole to my mom tonight...
Not sure but if it exists I will find it and I will fill my face with it
He passed out in my car.
What's the problem?
HE'S STILL IN MY FUCKING CAR.
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