I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
Their wedding is on my 21st birthday. I fail to see a way that this could end poorly.
get over here now. the boys are doing shots of everclear, chasing with monster, and some dude jsut walked in with a backpack full of tattoo gear.
I'm more concerned about the fact that I can't feel my gums
I cant. There's fences everywhere and I think I have a boyfriend. Its fabulous.
I've lost all respect for marriage since I joined this bachelor party.
We'll talk about this tommorrow when I'm not mistaking my fingers for French fries....
Are we really going to sext in Pokemon battle fashion?
my make-up looks really good tonight. I swear it had nothing to do with me finishing all of your strawberry vodka.
Thanks for your faith in my ability to stay sober while writing final essays. It's...unearned.
You're such a good friend. You send me pictures of your boobs when I'm sad. I will always appreciate that.
So it turns out "let's pretend to be gay so guys will stop hitting on us" was step one in her plan to get me into bed...
My lease is up and I've been thinking, it's only fair that the guys I've fucked in this apartment in the past year help me move. They enjoyed the bed, now help me move it.
My school has hired a professional rum bottle juggler for our dining hall this evening.
I woke up with a pube in my teeth...I'm disturbed cause we're both clean shaven
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