don't read that magazine bro. I came in it
i don't have fun when you have fun. i have embarrassment, fear, and significantly less cash in my wallet.
All you kept saying was "my dick ALWAYS causes problems".
and then we had to stop you from trying to pour shots through your nose with the neti pot.
then he asked me if i wanted to "handle his wingman"
I have never smelled more like a drunk mariachi band than I do right now.
I really just want to stuff him in my purse, take him home, feed him pudding or applesauce and brush his hair. That's not creepy, right?
Please God, is a penis possibly making it to vagina town to much to ask for tonight.
I only saw you for about 5 min, but you were rambling about how not even the whiskey could make you fight the skeleton guards.
her wearing orange crocs at the bar was definitely a great form of contraception
We knew we were dealing with a pro when some random guy at the bar thew you over his shoulder and you still didn't spill your drink
Strangely enough, that's not the first time that's happened
my whole checking account just had a funeral down bourban street, paid for that, and then bought everyone 5 shots of fireball...
They forgot my ranch. They're dead to me.
my friends roomated asked me this morning if we went to mcdonalds last night and i had no idea...that is until i checked my purse and found half a mcdouble in it...
Once you start using "cuddles" as a code word for sex you'll never get real cuddles again
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