The world needs more lipstick lesbians, if anything.
Apparently last night I sat at the bar with an upside down sharpie lightning bolt on my forehead, yelling "It's Harry Potter's birthday! Let me be on the qudditch team!" And I kept calling the bartender Dobby. There are videos.
I got a job at a micro-brewery. Now who made the bigger mistake, them or me?
He wrote me poetry. 12 hours after getting my number
Was it fun? The night started with home made Jager and ended in him falling out of a tree with a pocket full of house numbers...you tell me.
It's hard to judge what a reasonable amount of cereal looks like in the spaghetti pot. We're out of cap'n crunch and milk.
I asked him if we could hang out sometime when we weren't hammered. He said he'd email me his number... that's when I knew I was going to die alone
I agree though, his intact virginity is truly the tragedy of the century.
You got Broadway Drunk, dude. I haven't heard you sing "Music Of The Night" like that since the last time I was holding you up on the way to the subway at two in the morning.
THERE IS WEED IN MY OVEN. HOW AM I EVER SUPPOSED TO MAKE CHICKEN PARMESAN WITH WEED IN MY OVEN.
He made me watch a sex tape him and his gf made. They were in the shower when her roommate walked in on them. Not kidding: she asked to join in.
I hate him. He gets laid, my dick gets laughed at.
Tim is a child that you physically can't love because he makes it hard for you to even find anything redeeming about him so you debate leaving him forever at the gas station.
This is a weird combination of planning and sexting but whatever
I'm sorry, I'm tired, I can't play long distance cockblock anymore. Good night don't get too pregnant.
Nothing says I'm doing some sketchy shit like coming out of your bedroom with your underwear inside out
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