I got a call from 999 999 9999. I didn't answer it because I was too busy freaking out about the number.
It was probably Jesus.
I feel like he would have left a message.
I've decided to film a documentary centered around how he manages to keep that beast caged in such tight pants
From now on, just let me go home. I'm tired of hooking up with your roommates... Including you.
that's almost as bad as that time i almost ashed in a baby carriage
At least drunk you showered before switching sex partners last night.
Thank you for getting us into that car accident. I have had more guys hit on me than ever before because of my broken fingers.
I could only remember yelling "rip it down" as he ninja jumped off the bed, kicked the wall, and superman punched the fire alarm off the ceiling.
I've always wondered why you never put the hotel room in your name...
Speaking of testosterone. I saw a girl with a moustache thicker than one I can grow last night...
BUT YOU MUST FINISH YOUR QUEST
TO FIND THE HOLY GRAIL
AND GET DRUNK OFF YOUR ASS BY DRINKING OUT OF IT
come home. i made deep-fried hotdogs; don't let me die alone.
alll i remember is comming back downstairs, his pants were off and he was aplauding me
I'm so high that hamburger just went up my nose. Mustard BURNS
also I saw his dick in the morning light and it was glorious. Like staring upon your birthday cake you ordered from heaven and going " can't wait to eat that later"
all his sexual metaphors involve condiments, should I worry?
I am coming home with the worst sun burn of my life, two unused condoms, and an unworn slutty dress. Worst. Bachelorette. Party. Ever.
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