So...we accidentally left a bag of puke in your sister's room. Heads up.
Listen, I'm 30. If it doesnt involve a super soaker and some chicken wings, you can count me out.
recycled a plan b box. kill a baby. save a tree.
We did lines off of a Whitney Houston CD case. That makes everything okay.
We are, if nothing else, classy enough to leave our 10 mini bottles of wine in a polite line on the floor of the movie theater.
Putting all my energy Into finding a polite way to ask my mailman to fuck me in his car.
Well my ankle is fucked up, everytime it pops I have a reminder of $200. Jager bomb night and the day we began to rebuild our friendship.
I played "in the air tonight" on a drum set made of titties, and I'm not even exaggerating
So never has there been a greater Valentine's Day gift than you actually putting a new roll of toilet paper on for me after using the old roll up! You didn't even use the new roll. You clearly put that on from a gentleman's standpoint vs. a selfish standpoint. I love you!!!!
You better fucking tell me or I'm turning blow job week into go fuck yourself week.
In my next life I better get to be a bird. Fuck flying. I'm gonna shit on your car. Every. Day.
I thought he was foreign, but it turns out when you're that drunk, an Ohio accent just sounds Russian.
Why is it I can't go buy redbull and tylenol pm from a store without getting questions about my health choices?
That portable toilet under the bed? Turns out it was a tuba. Explains alot.
because nothing says “let’s fucking rage” like getting a compensation letter and some company stock
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