She was either really drunk or really not interested. Everytime I tried to ask her about herself she would respond with a line from Stepbrothers.
Come down. Bring Jorts. We're getting ready for this tricycle race like champions.
He is gay. There is no bi when you have a manhunt AND you are an art major. That's like a unicorn without a horn, it just isn't possible.
It's not my fault you have a job and can't get drunk on Tuesday's. Don't take your frustrations out on me!
And don't try to lose a condom in me tonight. My vagina is not a storage compartment where you can just leave something and try and use it again later in the week.
But he's not just anonymous male genitalia anymore. I've met him, I've seen his face.
Rule number one to being a good adult: don't use your vagina as an icebreaker. Just some wisdom I thought I'd pass down from experience.
I wish I could remember her name, I mean we fucked and all, but it woulda been nice to tag her in the instagram pics.
Apparently when it was last call I jumped up on the bar and told everyone to get the fuck out, which was immediately followed by a round of applause from the bouncers/bartenders and my tab getting paid as well.
The only thing about him that I appreciated was that he destroyed the bathroom at your birthday and missed singing to you. And we all knew.
I wore grinch underwear to my well woman exam this morning and I feel like I adulted successfully today.
I need to learn how to not be a fucking liability
I will find, mount, and marry that person.
If you dont get laid dressed as Woody Harrelson in Zombieland, I have lost all faith in the men of nw Indiana.
Also fucking you night and morning and then serving your parents breakfast is a bit awkward. And funny. To me.
Randomize
