I just realized that "Hey girl, when you gonna let me tap that?" is in iambic pentameter. I'm going to write a poem...
you thought your balls were fighting each other...
She gave me head because I gave her my pack of cigarettes...And you said quitting would be hard.
He didn't dress up but kept finding random pieces of costumes on the floor at each club. He was an 80s hair band warrior at the end of the night.
It was pretty bad. Like cum-on-my-face-while-singing-Let-It-Snow bad.
Sometimes crazy just comes naturally. I don't need booze to say that on occasion I feel the need to rip off my asshole and throw it against the fridge to see if it sticks.
I sent him an 18 page sext. He's going to have a good morning.
You were so drunk last night you left the bar to go buy a razor so you could go home with him
I'm sorry I came to your house drunk and fed pizza to your dog.
I don't know if I should feel proud or ashamed of myself...ashamed for making myself a drink at 6:15am or proud for actually being awake that early.
If it involves notarization or the Misfits, I am up to date. Anything else, I know fuck-all.
It's a sad day when a deadly hurricane headed your way is less depressing than your relationship status.
half way down the stairs my legs said fuck this and i just fell the rest of the way...
you know it was a good night when you wake up with a medal around your neck
I'm fucked-out. That state of being high between fucked up and passed out.
Randomize
