she was a 2....and a legitimate 2. like, helen keller is a 1, this girl...2.
I had five suicidal voicemails from him when I woke up this morning. They all started and ended with "DON'T FUCK MY ROOMMATES".
It was only one, it doesn't count.
Nothing says "I forgive you for puking on me during sex" like a Facebook add the next morning...
you took my bottle from me saying i was unprepared for its magical qualities. then you buckled it in the backseat.
She swung at the pinata with crutches
i jsut waqnnna hugg thw crap outa sokme peoplee
I've made a list of places I want to have sex this summer. #1: Reptile House at the zoo.
I'm offering you baseball tickets and my vagina, isn't that enough?
While we were driving she just screams from the backseat: MUMFORD AND SONS DROP THE BANJO and made what were meant to be banjo sound effects
His dick is hereby named Charles Dickens. Will's is less cerebral. I'd like to call it Pinnacle like the vodka we drank when we hooked up, but I feel like that's a compliment it doesn't deserve.
My boyfriend sold my favorite shoes right off my fucking feet last night outside the bar. It might have played a part in our breakup today.
You said you couldn't look at me because you would have to take off your sunglasses but you can't because they're the "guides to your eyes".
Who put the fucking tampon in my Mike's hard lemonade?
The important thing is that she is gone, presumably back to the depths of hell from whence she came.
I got so drunk I thought my tennis court was a corn field so I laid in it and ate pizza
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