Remember the time we were horrifically hung over, went to mcdonalds, an you merely felt the weight of the mcnuggets box and knew there was an extra?
like it was yesterday
Honestly, it's not that easy picking a Saturday night outfit that can translate to Palm Sunday mass. Priorities.
It's 10AM, she's drunk blaring veggie tales and I have a paper to write you've got to be fucking kidding me
Kurt said to text you and encourage you to come out tonight. Encourage you with my rack.
Apprently after I bit that bouncer, it all went down hill.
she visited to give me a bj between clients. Social work at its finest.
She is the absolute last thing I would want to screw. Honestly. Fellating a porcupine. Higher on the list.
We're not on Beacon Street anymore so now your argument about not peeing on the sidewalk holds no water. Whereas my bladder has holded every water.
Why am I wearing a dog collar
Only way we could keep you from running in to traffic.
It's Christmas, you should know what a virgin is.
Maybe they'll dismiss me from jury duty after they smell beer on me. You can't keep me in a cage and then give me an hour and a half long lunch break next to a beer fest and expect sobriety.
I thought you were dead but then you asked me if your tits looked good. They did.
Bottom line; if I'm coming out of my bat cave to do the dishes and get a chicken wing and I have no pants or makeup on and my messy bun looks more like Santa got leprosy and crashed his sled into the back of my head then let me be. That's all I'm saying.
He wore a t-shirt that had an arrow pointing to his crotch and "DO IT FOR THE VINE" on it.
At least he's honest about how long he'll last.
had more orgasms than hours of sleep last night
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