Conclusion from last night: Sometimes being classy isn't as fun as making out with a guy on a pooltable in a bar. Happy birthday, Canada.
They just came out of my bathroom and asked if I could spare them a condom. See. Its a good thing I have some.
I just want you to sit on my face and to tell you you're pretty. Most girls would leap at this opportunity.
We fucked to showtunes. Never going out with a theatre major ever again.
Mike found the condom wrapper on the washing machine and looked at me and said "Magnum? NICE girl. Get that nut!" then proceeded to puke in a cup
we're decorating our christmas cookies with birth control. so pretty.
I only see on penis in this picture but I assume there is another lurking out of sight.
'go have sex with her' ddoes not count as wingman
I would have cried, probably tears of wine, but cried nonetheless.
'TWAS BUT A GLORIOUS SIGHT. BITCHES.
I think I'm crying more because after all these years he never learned to spell you or use a comma properly from me
i don't know why he's complaining, i'm the one with four hickeys on my ass.
The fact that I am laying in bed on my stomach with an ice pack on my rump is a clear indication that I am no longer in my carefree 20s
I just moonwalked my socks off. THAT LAZY. THAT HIGH.
There comes a point where there's just condoms and old mcdonalds in your garbage can and you can't tell if you've won or lost.
Randomize
