Picture the opening band right now: euro, beer guts, one member in oversized hipster lumberjack apparel, the other in childsized american apparel and shorts. Singing in german.
you know how i said i wouldn't send that pic message of your lofted bed falling from you fucking a fat chick? that was after i sent it to your mom
i am doomed to only fuck guys with curved cocks
I don't think the people up for their 8am class were as impressed with how many beads i got last night as we were.
I just brought the toaster out onto the porch to light a cigarette, don't talk to me about being desperate.
I like my landing strip. Makes me feel sophisticated.
What you did last night can never be called sophisticated. I don't care how you trim your pubes.
The horrors my penis has endured I wouldn't wish upon any man.
I had lunch with him today and quietly mourned his wasted good looks on such a disappointing set of genitals.
Then me, her, and her mom snorted tequila. The bartender was in shock.
I just realized in a weird reversed way I hustled a stripper last night
I'll be thirty in eight months. I think my goal is too stop changing my pants in the parking lot at work by then.
JEREMY RENNER GOT DIVORCED. I STILL HAVE A CHANCE.
I know. I'm a saint. Saint of sitting on faces.
Woke up this morning to a bunch of snapchats of you drunkenly yelling at grasshoppers. Good night?
Thank you for stopping me from getting a butt tattoo. That was a good call.
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