You're the host. Of course you wear the diaper. It's like wearing the pants.
the party we crashed was not a party. the party we crashed was jens grandads funeral.
Throwing up while listening to pandora radio. Don't tell me my life doesn't have theme music.
A-plus on my thesis. I deserve the blowjob to end all blowjobs. And I wanna wear a crown while you do it.
Don't blame me for eating all the ham.. I gave it out to people, so at most I'm guilty of ham distribution
After so many times of carrying your puked covered clothes home in a bag on a Tuesday morning, you begin to realize that Fucked Up Mondays aren't a real thing.
I feel like I'm laying on a pillow cloud. With little baby angel fingers between me and the cloud lifting me up. Singing hymns in my ear.
We did it to 80's cardio music. Talk about a workout.
I literally cut myself out of my pants. What is my life.
Dead. I am actually dead. Also, worst nightmare confirmed: throwing up in a four hundred person lecture.
This whole having a new phone thing is like starting all over in life with a clean slate! (My old text convos are gone)
New phone new life!
Congrats on dating a convict, there's no fitbit badge for that one.
The last time I saw you, you were giving the stripper a lap dance.
If the guys trying to booty call text me could see me right now in some raggedy pajamas with toothpaste down the front of my shirt eating pepperoni out of the package they might change their minds
THEY LEFT ME IN A CLUB BY MYSELF. I’M SO ANNOYED. I’M GOING TO FUCK THEIR BARTENDER FRIEND. Caps only because I’m really mad.
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