I'm going to an arts college, I live next to the frat houses, and my room number is 420. god has plans for me and I couldn't be happier.
his electricity got shut off. i felt like a pilgrim searching for his dick.
I was thinking Sara Jessica Parker was hot. That high.
Nyquil jello-shots aiding in health and happiness
im shotgunning beers in the kitchen. alone. the cat is judging me.
After he finished he proceeded to check my boobs for breast cancer.
I feel bad for her, but I feel like she's one of those resource-raping alien civilizations that visits planets, decimates them and then leaves. Those really aren't the qualities I appreciate in a friend. Ya know?
I have bruises from doing the splits on the poles, if that doesn't scream bourbon street regret then I don't know what does
me + whiskey = a bad person
HAPPY AIDS-LESS FOURTH OF JULY YOU HEALTHY FUCK
returning from a 6am booty call in 2 feet of snow on a Tuesday is a bold new kind of low for me
Sleeping with him wouldn't be considered hoeing out... It seems more like babysitting.
I'm about to do something based solely on the fact that a fortune cookie told me to. This may not end well.
This woman at the blackjack table is sitting on a pile of newspaper so she can pee at her seat and never miss a hand.
I can see. My condolences to your vagina.
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