There comes a time in every man's life where he has to shit in a catbox to prove a point.
This is not a drunk text right now. This is an i want your dick text. There is a difference.
I passed out on my porch last night. I'm still making it to class. This is what growing up means.
So then she just shoved applesauces in her pocket and started talking about she needed to find her friends.
you didn't get her number why?
we're using his nephews tonka truck toy as a cooler for the beer
Beer coozy in the gym. Don't judge me.
He was trying to hotbox the banana suit. Of course we traded him for vodka.
I'm like a number 27.2 on a scale of 1-10 of how badly I want you right now.
Your lack of a response brings it down to a 25.4.
I remember saying your puke looked like a jellyfish and you got very offended.
So I've discovered that being hungover at 25 feels the same as being hungover at 24. Happy Birthday to me.
You want to groom your chest hair? You mean with a little baby chest hair brush? Because that sounds adorable.
haha it's ok, I asked people. I was like "I'm high and lost" and the dude just said "That's my life. Love it."
There's a quesaritto in the oven. Neither of us have been to Taco Bell in 3 weeks.
The bar tender had his entire hand down your asscrack.
I forgot about that. I was in MULTIPLE dimensions.
do you think mom is upset that i left with the stripper from her bachelorette party last night?
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