I just asked my hair stylist how many percocets she'd do my hair for.
Breaking hearts and overdosing on semen. That's my life.
I've decided to tape numbers to the bottom of my heels corresponding to the number of drinks I can safely consume in them.
That's the last time you suggest we can get our tab wiped by out-drinking the bartender.
It was my card, so what do you care that you lost?
Is your card paying for my plan b?
That's cool. At least the punch line of my story isn't I shit in a booth at Denny's.
Bad news: I found out that girl you want has a boyfriend. Good news: she'll probably cheat on him with you. Better news: after seeing the way she treats him, that's the most interaction you're going to want with her anyway. Trust me.
You slammed your face into the toilet and declared you were moving your bed into the bathroom in the morning. Also, you insisted on crawling everywhere because feet are "overrated."
The smell came through my closed door. His farts are made of rendered tires, and apparently, ghosts.
Besides the fact that the only male who has shown an interest in me in the last 5 months has a strange and unfortunate resemblance to fucking Frodo, I've been good thanks
We fucked so hard and loud that the everyone at the party downstairs starting chanting his name. Oh I we broke a lamp.
Serious concern: will TSA confiscate my bondage rope?
Thinking about wearing all black to the bar tonight since I'll be attending my liver's funeral.
THE AUSTRALIAN IS SINGLE AS FUCK.
By talk things out did he mean have passionate angry sex?
We hotboxed his bathroom. going to be a good night
Hotbox went wrong - smoke sets off fire alarm. Firefighters coming
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