I just watched a trucker jack off to a picture of Ellen DeGeneres at a truck stop in Nebraska.
i've decided that sluts are like cars. they may look good as hell on the outside, but you never know what kind of shit is hiding under the hood.
I can practically hear my vag and my conscience fighting.
i crashed through a building. if that counts then yes, i went out with a bang.
I knew I was in the wrong bar when "I have a daughter your age" was some random's pick up line.
All I can remember is being told by a guy named Kyle to stay in the corner until the cops left. Then waking up on a porch outlined in beer cans 8 blocks from my house. Pregaming for college.
he screamed PILLOW FIGHT and hit branden in the head with a pillow that had a fifth of vodka in it. then he asked why he wasnt laughing
Should we start at nine like normal people or now like alcoholics?
Made a pan flute out of the varyingly empty beer bottles on the table. Played a glorious tune that paid tribute to the winds.
The fact that it was "anything but a cup" now explains the cowboy boots and fishbowl aftermath at the apartment.
he cock-blocks himself, don't try to make excuses for him!
The bar would not accept my money. I have reached God status here
You know your horny when you have a sex dream about Ace Ventura, if your wondering he's awful
Your "whiskey dick" is glorious but also terrifying
My breath smells like gin and sadness
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