I feel like I got hit by a truck made out of Jack Daniels.
U of I kids don't fist pump to Sweet Caroline. Get me the fuck out of here.
I'm trapped in whichever ring of hell is populated by inbred yokels and type 2 diabetes.
He told me that I smelled like a Glade Plug-in, then sang the Menard's jingle in it's entirety in between kissing me.
You "were" hungover, which is past tense. So that gives you no excuse not to go out tonight.
Is it horrible that I want to keep my purple landing strip until after my gyno apt? I feel like someone beside myself should see it...
He tried to make an olympic torch by lighting a corona box on top of a pool cleaner.
I feel like I just gave a blowjob to a freight train.
Didn't get the job. Searched for my references on FB and saw the pic of me weighing my head passed out.
He got a slutty, ugly mother of a 7 year old, and I got a dog that only sleeps and shits on clean clothes. No one won in this break up.
Sex-sore abs and my workout pants have gravel stains on the knees. It's like the workout of shame.
Everyone is speaking Spanish and this 300 hundred pound chick is talking about the time she got out of prison... Fuck this place
I want to wear Christmas sweaters with you.
This is not 2004 anymore. It's not acceptable to get fingered while watching 'Ferngully' in a basement full of your friends.
You kept pointing at me and saying I'm getting chicken parmesan and no one is going to stop me
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