I called the bar to ask if they found my Id and credit card and they remembered me as 'the girl who signed her receipt in blood'
she woke up, said "please dont tell me your name, i dont want to remember it"
I got a job at a micro-brewery. Now who made the bigger mistake, them or me?
Why did you come into my room last night at 3am and pour monopoly money on me while you were crying?
So on a scale of 1 to Friendship-Over, how mad would you be if a rando I brought home sharted on the shag carpet in the living room?
Welcome to the south, dude. Gives the phrase "I wish you a dry ass" a new perspective.
For our final psych experiment, we're conditioning Tim to hump the nearest inanimate object and/or person every time he hears a Ke$ha song
You're dick is like the main character. It needs its own picture.
This is the third year in a row that Mario has fallen through a table on New Years. I'm sensing a tradition developing.
I have poison ivy and a broken finger. Don't have a threesome in the woods.
Now with the essential back story, I can empathize. Sorry about your beer and butthole.
You're like the Miss Manners of anonymous gay sex.
Just by hearing the girl outside reciting the info on her fake ID, I know it's gonna be a good night
I don't care. It's wine Wednesday get your gameface on.
you said you didn't feel like drinking anymore so you mixed vodka with your applesauce and ate it
Randomize
