My nipple is on Facebook.
we sixty- nined on a tennis court.. not even drunk. you say insane. i say creative genius.
I feel like I'm a marionette being lifted around. Four Loko.
malibu coconut giveth, and malibu coconut taketh away
All the alcohol I spilled on myself must have acted as a disinfectant or something. I haven't showered in three days and I still don't have a staph infection from sleeping on the lawn with you.
Yeah, clearly. And then we can float around my room on Christmas themed inner tubes. And drink, I guess.
But the real question is how many people didn't see my dick last night?
My chest hair is, as we speak, arching upward to embrace my neck beard. The union will be a storied one.
Looked for my lighter in the console and found more tampons. Seriously. You're like a squirrel prepping for a hard winter. A menstruating squirrel.
My bar tender texts me around 5ish and ask what I feel like, so it's ready for me when I get home. All star service.
Dude. You are the LAST person that should live above a bar.
You went to pound town last night and chow town this morning. Boy you need a passport.
Mid-fucking he screams "YOU CAN'T VOTE FOR TRUMP"
I have vodka, fruit gushers, and health insurance. Let's party.
Omg dude take a shower. You'll feel like god washed away all the sinful shit we did last night.
A piece of your chipped nail polish just fell out of my crotch.
Randomize
