Why do girls always cry at the bar?
What's the point of going out if you're going to cry all night?
Are they having an exestensial crisis at the bar?
He called me "the Joe Montana of blowies." Not sure if that is an accomplishment or an insult, but going off of the amount of condensation on the windows of my car, I'm gonna just do a little touchdown dance and pass out.
I caught a rooster roaming Edison Park then released it in the bar. They made me try to catch it again and somebody played the chicken dance while I chased it
well tonys high enough to be moving from spot to spot around the kitchen shooting tortellini into a boiling pot and yelling "KING JAMES" whether he makes or misses it.
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I have to keep checking she's breathing. This is why we don't drink on Sundays
He came to my house drunk at two a.m., got in the hot tub, refused to get out until he smoked a blunt, and said "That's what brothers and sisters are for."
Somehow me not being able to breathe due to cocaine doesn't seem very domesticated.
I'm wearing red that night.
Noted, what shade?
Whore.
You screamed "there will be blood" and punched some random guy in the face. So no, we can't go back to that bar.
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You forget how awesome toilet paper is until you have to wipe your ass with a piece of notebook paper...
All I know is when I checked my phone this morning google translate was open with "help the cow ate my robot" translated to French
If your night didn't end with writing a witness report for the cops at a shwarma place, your night was probably less interesting than mine.
The power of the half flaccid cock, and to think, I thought I was just playing accordion in front of her Vagina!
Woke up. Found about 20 condoms upstairs. A hole in the couch. Bread on the floor. Going back to sleep.
There's a fuckload of syrup all over the floor.
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