I just threw up, I'm either bulemic or pregnant, and I'm now accepting bets on which it is
I have the Lakers game on, but all I can think about is having sex with you. Not sure what you've done here.
Good thing I was dressed to impress in my "I went nuclear on my wings" shirt even the girls are making out and I'm still 7th wheeling it...
I'm home and safer than post-menopausal sex; you're welcome for the image. And yes, I did just use a semi-colon hammered.
he gave me a new purse full of weed and five boxes of samoas for my birthday. best boyfriend ever.
He just showed me a video of his erect penis moving to the beet of the music when he was high, I think I'm in love.
She didn't need to know her brother was thrown out of a bar for getting head on the dance floor. You're a shit head.
You know how there are wrinkles in your brain? What if they were filled with potato chips? That's kind of how my head feels now.
I've never felt more disgusting in my life. And I'm including the time I snuggled that homeless woman in the puddle of my whiskey vomit.
I fucking hate you. Some slutty looking drunk chick backed her ass up across the bar and started grinding on you. You ignored her because you didn't want to share you drink
I care about my drink far more than her feelings
I was about to share my drunken story from the weekend, but two friends getting married and one finding out she's pregnant makes Saturday in jail look a little suspect.
I fully committed to my astronaut costume, to say the least. blacking out on moonshine and having a moonwalk of shame this morning: happy Halloweekend.
He pulled over in the Compass Bank parking lot so I could dry-heave, but I decided I couldn't vomit there because "I bank here."
She definitely peed in a bucket in their closet last night. We should warn them about that, right?
I don't need to marry the guy. I just need some filthy, shameful wish fulfillment sex and then live out the rest of my life on the bean farm.
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