So I'm pretty sure I fucked the dept of homeland security guy on my kitchen table. No recollection of it, but there are signs.
If she wasn't my friend I'd think she was a huge slut
Weed smoke burps in the boss's face. Job security.
I've come to accept that no matter where I step in our apartment, your underwear will be there.
Please don't be alarmed by the blood on my arms and phone in the morning. It's not mine.
I need to stop smoking. I just talked to corn.
You told me you would ride a pig into the night sky screaming, "I wear my sunglasses at night"
Drinking and pointing where stuff needs to go is hard stuff.
I have bruises from doing the splits on the poles, if that doesn't scream bourbon street regret then I don't know what does
If we all have the time, and the weather permits, and you have no plans, we should have another go at Operation Get Our Carless Friends Laid. All the lonely people will be out. We can take our lonely people out too.
HE HAS CHALLENGED MY BADNESS. I MUST CONQUER ALL THAT QUESTIONS MY POWER. BRING FORTH THE TIT PICS.
No kiss but I got free McDonald's so at least we can focus on what is really important here
My ass is underappreciated
i woke up wearing a life jacket, holding on to a footlong hotdog, and had on a mr. hustle 1995 shirt on
good night
Have you actually looked at the corn flakes box? I don't think the rooster has a soul.
Randomize
