Our relationship is like that beach boys song "help me Rhonda" and I'm fucking Rhonda. And Rhondas's the whore in case you've never heard it.
I need to move out. I just walk of shamed my way into a family breakfast party. There's no response when grandma says "where you coming from in heels at 9AM?"
My vagina just recognized that song.
We are possibly on our way, unless we see the limo full of strippers.
It's 6 am and I've spent the last few hours searching for a cork screw or suitable substitute. You had none. Incidentally, I finally opened this bottle of wine, but owe you a new meat sticky thing with those two prongs. Sobriety is not good for me. Or your utensils.
There is a nerf war going on here. I just cleaned the blood out of the fridge
You kept whispering "Party Dave" every time someone would start talking.
I say that because you at one point were like a mama spider covered with baby spiders only you were a man covered with strippers.
You looked at me, said I was a nice guy. Then you drunkenly climbed on top of me and said you liked me and wanted me.
The fact that I am laying in bed on my stomach with an ice pack on my rump is a clear indication that I am no longer in my carefree 20s
She rode my dick so hard I momentarily lost hearing. I guarantee I had the better St Patrick's.
I can't tell if you're talking about my pussy or Cape Cod.
2016 was supposed to be my year of being a ho, but I guess 2017 might be too.
What made you think singing Silent Night while I was puking was a good idea?!?!
you found yr lighter in yr cleavage and said so that's where you've been all my life
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