So I just went home and made my own spanx by cutting the legs off of a pair of nylons. I'm either a genius or missed my calling to live in a trailer park.
Let's play a little game called "Chill the Fuck Out" - you're our first contestant
We had sex on the hood of my car and broke the windshield.
He was like a Bill Nye the science guy of sex....he was telling me things about my clitoris that I didn't even know
She gave me head because I gave her my pack of cigarettes...And you said quitting would be hard.
Post a pic on facebook and see if those same 46 girls find shitting in the bed handsome and adorable
He talked to you for like two seconds while you were shit faced doing Forest Gump impressions...how is that possible?
I just...no. You make my soul cry. You are giving me karma-cancer. This torture of my majesticness can no longer be tolerated.
For the record, it's NEVER ok to discuss my stripper-related injuries with my fiance.
He walked into the bar, took a deep sniff and said "this place is fertile and ready for my seed" then calmly walked to the service area
I mean, I would have, but I couldn't come up with a logical reason to bring up oral sex during an orientation.
Found a pic on my phone from last night. You're drunk. Arm wrestling some guy. In the bar bathroom. At a baby changing station. It's my new wallpaper.
Dude, exfoliate your balls. you'll thank me later.
Im bringing my light up rubber ducky just in case we end up at a rave tonight. HE CHANGES COLOR!
By the time we got to McDonald's you were sharing a Big Mac with a stripper.
Randomize
