I'm in a room alone pouting because I got the wrong nachos at taco bell.
We were so bored at work tonight that we were in dry storage taking turns pouring the boxed wine we use for cooking into each others' mouths. I think I'm starting to understand the "problem" aspect of "drinking problem."
I'm in Target and the lady in front of me is buying three Summer's Eve douches, a box of fishsticks and a giant bottle of vodka. The sad thing is I get it.
Boy did I ever crash and burn on the pickled egg pick up line.
The only thing I remember is doing a toddlers and tiaras dance routine onstage. I fucking CURTSIED.
OMG stop. Pretty feet? Sparkle baby!
Dude. I am seriously trying SO hard not to be amused by Honey Boo Boo. But the fact is, she just got a mani pedi with her gay uncle Poodle, and he got a discount because he only has nine toes, and I am ALL IN.
You asked me if you had to go downstairs to get upstairs. And then you forgot where you were.
My puffy vagina and I are on the way to the doctor to see what your mutant penis did to us THANKS A LOT
All I really remember is shouting "THANKS FOR LETTING ME MAKE OUT WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND."
What can I say? You have this amazing power over straight girls.
Every time I'm hungover I just want to watch Harry Potter and cry.
I am harder than a fucking diamond and Michael Bolton is playing. Your move.
The part where he comes over and ignores you isn't what makes me mad about that story... It's the fact that he ate your tacos, AND THEN proceeded to ignore you. That's cold hearted.
I called you last night? What did I say??
That you love me forever and that I'm the greatest in the world now mohammed ali is dead...
I've decided if you aren't here in fifteen minutes I'm leaving you for Mario the 75 year old Colombian bartender.
I know that whole thing was awkward. Not worth the piece of cake.
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