I made out with four boys last night, AND EXCUSE ME WHILE I COUNT HOW MANY GIRLS.
The walk of shame is far, far worse on crutches.
Found a barbie with nipples. Life is complete.
You cant give me a fifth of god damn jim beam and expect me not to cheat on my gf.
I don't remember. I think I elluded to the fact that I would buy him a dildo for his birthday.
The goblet must only be used for good. And vodka. And anything t-pain would be proud of.
I can hear her moaning. I'm on some random guy's counter. He wanted me to cuddle but I said I didn't know how.
We're discussing which museums we should go to when we shroom. How ill would Picasso be?
Currently getting "blaow" buzzed into my pubes. How's your thursday?
I was changing in front of my window and my neighbor text me saying, "nice pubes."
I'm spending tomorrow doing taxes and making jello shots. Is this adulthood?
I just remembered you petting my nose last night to help the cocaine 'sink in'. I don't think that's how it works
You wanna come over?
Too high to be booty called. My cereal is growing hair.
It got to the point where I was so drunk, playing rock paper scissors as a drinking game seemed like a good idea.
This is your post bachelor party survival text. This a free and complementary service to make sure you are still alive. For alive, say yes. For hurting, say ugh. If lost, say help. If dead, please feel free to not respond. Thank you and we hope you enjoyed the party.
Randomize
