Either he was jacking off or having a seizure next to me in bed. Either way, I was too lazy to help.
The only thing I remember is vomiting and then feeding my dog a Mcdonalds cheeseburger and telling him yolo
I also found a beer label in my bra and I'm pretty sure you put it there and said "this means I trust you"
He went to WalMart with $30 and came back with a watch, a basketball and an engagement ring.
Imagine getting smashed in the dick by a basketball. A basketball made of metal. With spikes. That's pretty much what his dick looked like.
It's gay softball weekend. Lots of hot gay strangers to go home with.
turns out putting a tie on my unicorn onesie didn't make it acceptable "formal wear" and I found salsa in my cup holder
I feel as though I look like a mom with a substance abuse problem
I had forgotten what new underwear feels like. It's as if angels descended from heaven for the sole purpose of supporting my junk.
For the first time in my life, I still have money by the next payday. Who is this responsible person and what have they done with the real me?
Nothing says "I'm sorry for shitting in your bed" like an Olive Garden gift card
I thought I'd never say this, but if I had to choose between these cookies and sex, it would be these cookies
Is it awkward to pay for your boob job with scholarship money? Either way, it's happening.
My dad called me in the middle of the night, drunk on vodka, asking for references on the Irish alphabet.
We can have bacon on the roof while tanning
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