that's the second time you've been mistaken as a prostitute. maybe life is trying to tell you something
its my fault though, i'm wearing tights
you're hiking in tights? you remind me of dennis quaid's fiance in the parent trap
he smells like the inside of heather mills' fake leg
never trust anyone who drives a pt cruiser.... write that down
Eating doritas dunked in queso con salas. Salllas. Salska. Salsa. Got it. Shhiitt. Salsa con queso. That's better. I'm hot pink socks.
I think if I set up a series of baby gates up the stairs each one more difficult to undo then the last that should be able to stop your drunk vagina.
i figure if i show enough tits, no one will notice my eyebrows.
I just want you and your enormous dick to be my fucking rebound so we can move on with our lives
Guess who figured out you can fit an entire bottle of champagne in a big Subway cup. Open container laws my ass.
Admittedly shitfaced... I have two questions. 1)why is the fan in my bathroom on? (Sub-text: is there a ghost?). 2) is your underwear really argyle?
There was a point where you were singing "Friends in Low Places" to yourself while Juicy J was playing so I got worried.
Other than trying to finger me on the couch in the middle of the bar a few times, you were fine.
Rome wasn't built in a day - my bedroom skills weren't obtained in some boring monogamous relationship. Same thing. Right?
You kept shouting about how you were the king of all bitches...and doors, for some reason.
Come over I need help. I just almost died in an acid flashback while listening to do You Feel Like We Do off of the Frampton Comes Alive album.
Fruitcakes are only good for throwing at neo Nazis.
Randomize
