your room smells of hookers.
And success
We can make salsa ya know, maybe even some hot sauce. That doesn't mean we're married.
he was already passed out before we got there, so i already knew i was going to like him
I woke up with cheeseburger in my mouth and a deep sense of accomplishment.
I don't think going to Relay for Life and painting our faces while everyone stares at us is a sufficent late night after the bars.
His fuck buddy just got fake tits and wants him to 'come break them in.' I need his life.
So apparently nutella and chocolate body paint aren't actually the same thing.
It all started because he put my damn phone in his pants. By his crotch nonetheless.
I snuck in through the doggy door to get his vodka. Do you think my ex will know?
We ended up shitfaced at the house after the Super Bowl trying to get someone from Scientology on the phone.
I feel like I'm a car that keeps getting Bacardi 151 instead of fuel
For some reason, my alarm clock was unplugged & in the kitchen microwave. I don't remember doing that...
I just want this to serve as a reminder in the morning that the topic of conversation at last call was the penis size of jesus.
IDK if she's gay or not, but there is something about the way she looks at me that says "do dirty dirty things to me." I have no choice but to oblige.
I tried saying sorry but instead I puked down her shirt and tried to clean it up... Now I have a bruise on my forehead. good news, before she left she wrote her number on my stomach with sharpie
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