There comes a time in every man's life where he has to shit in a catbox to prove a point.
Nothing ended up happening last night because he couldn't get my overalls or fanny pack off. I woke up this morning with one strap over my overall shorts on, my fanny pack wrapped around my chest, and the baby doll still tied to my hand. Ugh white trash parties!
I'm making a conscious effort to limit my spending at the bars...i wrote "FOR CAB ONLY" on a $20 last night
Your excuse of not making us Mac and cheese was that you couldn't find 6 cups of water...
The dog threw up again, this time IN the toilet. I've taught him well.
After a certain point, you just want to make it work. Prove to yourself that you're smarter than the vibrator.
And on the seventh day, God carefully sculpted your cock to fit perfectly into my masterpiece of a vagina. Then he rested. Look it up.
And after we were done he said "Let's play a game! Who can find their clothes first"
Topless bubble bath with a lesbian is debatable as a gay experience.
I'm just walking around Lowe's groping the carpets....
All you kept saying was, " Barack fucking Obama. FUCK Michelle" and then you motorboated me.
Can you think of a sexual word rhyming with snorkel?
It's hard picking what to wear when you know the plan is sex. Like can't I just wear my robe let's just simplify this.
I should stop pointing to my vagina when I say "I'm in charge!"
Where do you think black out memories go?
Into the dark abysmal abyss of the deepest, darkest part of your mind. It's obviously the bodies natural defense to protect you from witnessing the shit you do while actually blacked out.
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