I'm pretty sure that he just gave me the ginger disease
I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
you told me heaven would be the 3 of us at Moe's forever and every hot girl that walked in would ask us to play stone face
in hindsight, $10 Malibu buckets were a terrible idea...
I apparently spent $173 at the bar last night. The proof is in the vomit on my pillow and the receipt I tried to clean it up with.
Her roommate texted her and told her that her cat died. Now she's double-fisting bottles of wine while howling and wailing her dead cat's name. Not how I pictured this booty call.
Also you know what's worse than drunk texting? Drunk leaving soup on your hot neighbor's porch.
I ate her out for so long I might actually shit a vagina
I forgot to tell you, the medics put you in a wheel chair. ( I kept telling you to cat daddy) oh you also gave everyone high fives for speaking English.
Rolled in at 3:30am from the strip club, with all the screaming I did, Siri doesn't even recognize my voice this morning,
I'm scared to see what happens if we keep winning like this. I don't think there enough livers for every one after the season is over.
I know my whole body feels like I belly flopped onto concrete. Seriously need to tone it down for a while
hey if you're going to the hospital do you wanna pick me up a taco on your way back
I learned a valuable lesson about combining day drinking with malt liquor: you may think you have super powers, but that's just the Steel Reserve talking.
You ran full speed into the glass door with your Patron and yelled "FEEL THE RHYTHM, FEEL THE RHYME"
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