I feel like your standards for women is like rent-a-centers standards for credit.
Just seeing my phone say "picture message from: Senor Floppy Cock", i knew it was going to make me smile.
life is no where near the amusement park it was when I was on Vicodin.
The liquor store wont accept checks from us anymore.
making an indian outfit so we can be pochohantas and john smith and fuck in the canoe on the night float
Dad and I are shitfaced screaming at Canadians in Walmart. Life is good.
Note to self: do not ride giant beanbag chair down stairs.
I want to be stormed in. I want to be stuck there. I want to climb a pyramid of strippers to safety
Made eye contact with a friendly neighborhood dog walker while violently puking out the window. How's your Wednesday going?
Then he texted me that I was the "good kind" of fat.
A Morman just tried to recruit me and I told him "Trust me, you don't want me"
The cop busted in, made the music stop, and goes "GUYS LISTEN UP! DRINK, DO DRUGS, HAVE UNPROTECTED SEX, I DONT GIVE A FUCK, JUST QUIET DOWN!" Best. Cop. Ever.
test was negative. but nancy drew has yet to solve the case of the missing period.
Unless it has to do with ramen, goldfish, cheese, or rugby, don't talk to me.
If he ever pulls my hair again, I'm going to conveniently have lock jaw. Then he can decide whether pain during sex is still fucking appealing.
Randomize
