I don't think I can fit "I'm sorry for ruining Christmas" on one cake. Better make two.
for real. he might as well bring dogs if they're lower than a 7.
Selling Girl Scout Cookies outside bars for higher than retail value has got to be the most profitable idea. Ever.
He just referred to his foreskin as a snuggie. Help.
I'm fucked up. I can't drink anymore. We stole a cat.
Rain ponchos don't count as shirts at the bar. FYI.
Hurricane my ass. I'm riding a god damn kayak down the flooded highway if it's the last god damn thing I do, god damnit.
It's like my butt was the only innocence I had left and now I don't even have that.
Me either. I want to get 'chase a stray cat through the neighborhood in my hooker heels' drunk. And it's your birthday, so you have to get 'best friend holding your hair while you puke in the bar bathroom and cry about your life' drunk. In a feather boa.
Let's play, "guess how long my Neighbours have been watching me dance naked".
You are a booty call, not a friend.
All of my exes are either overweight and neckbearded or dead. Someone out there is looking out for me.
I dunno that I'd be trusting enough of junkyard tequila to drink it.
I miss my bedroom and my bed and being able to spray myself with my choice of 15 different perfumes so I don't have to wake up to the smell of my past sins
I just told my bowl "sorry" for putting it down, because I thought I hurt its feelings. omg. I'm high.
Randomize
