The verizon commercial has a magical pinata. Candy just keeps coming out. It must be a portal to a candy universe.
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.
The Mets? Come back? That'd be like Nickelback writing a good song.
I figured he was gay when I walked in on him working out to Flirty Girl Fitness.
I'm surrounded by too many unhungover people.
I briefly wondered why they weren't in school, but after the tinier one shouted "check out dem titties!" I had my answer
Her legal name is Candy. Her being a whore is implied.
I vaguely remember trying to exfoliate my face with your leg hair. Sorry about that.
I'm going to get like 25 drinks at their wedding and just leave them sitting around or give them to hobos.
I just compared his sexting to a plate of spaghetti. And he STILL wants to sleep with me.
We're not piercing ourselves today.
Exactly best part of my night he took of his shirt and surprise traveler fanny pack
new low: I blocked him from seeing my snapchat story in hopes he will text me because he'll be afraid I'm dead or something
It's my birthday. I should be drinking mimosas in a top hat, not working.
If you survived your 72 hour masturbation marathon put on some pants and come over. My mom dropped off a lasagna.
Randomize