so last night my mother drunkenly told me that maybe the reason why I want to be a vet was because I was conceived doggy style.
She just messaged me 19 sad faces.
The saltiness of my tears mix perfectly with the tequila.
Let's review the facts-we're bored, we have a ton of beer, and we live 5 minutes from the zoo. This equation is easily solvable
Its like a relationship where they cockblock each other.
He came in my nose, then said it would help clear my sinuses.
we found you in the kitchen at five am trying to make a vodka omelette. you said you didn't want to live in a world where your two favourite things couldn't be together.
At one point I was waiting in line for the port o potties and a storm trooper came out of one and sprayed me in the face with a water gun
Like that actually happened I wasn't hallucinating
My life is like a drunken tornado. All over the place and never passing up fat girls
Get drunk. Masturbate to his picture. Fall asleep. Repeat. Fuck summer.
Ran out of deodorant. Febreze on a paper towel? Kicking college's ass.
I wouldn't marry anyone who wouldn't symbolically fuck a doughnut with a sausage though.
Um, It's tempting but I'm not into coke or farmers.
Wait, like drink with real Phil. Or Phil, the cat that sometimes lived in your closet in Myrtle Beach?
he passed out in the backyard and we used christmas lights as extension cords for the clippers to shave his head.
Randomize
