remember that time i ran away from the bar and passed out in a street cot?
neither do i
I'm sooo using this pickup line: "Baby, its not the 2.5 inches... Its the 200 pounds behind it"
i need a wealthy benefactor or a cocktail job. or to start stripping. or kill myself. whatever.
She kept saying I was her favorite Jonas brother, and for some reason, I was ok with that.
homeboy just tried to sext with me at 8:30 in the morning while I was on a job interview...
so you did it...
obv...but still...it was inconsiderate.
I was talking to this girl who was in love with the air force. I was doing decently until I mentioned that the navy actually has more planes. Cockblocked by my knowledge of random trivia again.
throwing up in the shower isnt as glamorous as i expected
since when the fuck is that glamorous?
You stood up gave the stripper 15 ones in a wad, hugged her and then sat back down.
I just woke up to find the whole kitchen sick had been converted into a gravity bong.
Our idea of a "deep conversation" was successfully forming complete sentences.
Walk back down Church toward Mass Ave. Take a right and head for the guy in a kilt on top of the really tall unicycle. C u soon!
That's just weird. That doesn't make sense sexually at all. I mean, you might as well tape a pen to the tip and try and write your name while you're at it.
If you are breathing, I want you at your house. No non-breathing-related excuses.
They only searched every other person. But I sacrificed myself to get our vodka across the border
HAPPY AIDS-LESS FOURTH OF JULY YOU HEALTHY FUCK
Randomize
