It's like a parade of train wrecks.
Most the numbers in my phone are mistakes. It's a virtual graveyard of people I should never pick up for.
One blow job doesn not make me gay.
I woke up to him drunk-t-bagging me, saying "huevos rancheros" were being served for breakfast.
If you're fucking that other dude, I'll take the sloppy seconds. I don't care.
Well, it's hard to say. Last night he puked a perfect circle around him on the floor, and then sat in it insisting it would protect him from the smoke monster. He's was still there last time I checked.
I feel like I just tasted lung cancer.
This reunion sucks. All the confident hot girls from high school are still confident and hot, and none of the fat girls with low self esteem transformed into hot girls with low self esteem.
He ripped off his socks and ran around the basement barefoot. His feet turned black. Then he chugged Parmesan cheese. He chugged dry cheese dude.
This guy keeps going off in the metal detector. When is it appropriate for me to punch him in the throat just in case?
Also I can show up hungover, fall asleep at my desk, and smell like a bottle of whiskey, and they still like me more then my shitty co worker
I'd rather have snapchat than feelings.
Like actually I will be single and sad and lonely for ever. Cheese will be my life partner. Robot sex is my future.
He was tripping his balls off and kept aggressively saying SIT ON MY FACE. 5 hours and countless orgasms later I've decided I must never let this man go.
THERE IS JIZZ ON MY CEILING. HOW THE FUCK IS THERE JIZZ ON MY CEILING
Randomize
