the coke olympics were a bad idea. there's a tree uprooted in the front of my building.
It was an igloo shaped doghouse, I was obligated to hotbox it
He had a beer bottle in each of his back pockets and was on rollerblades. All I remember is following him for about 10 minutes
After a certain blood-alcohol level, the dog is in charge.
No matter what I do you still love me. It's like loving a retarded kid. A retarded kid that keeps trying to sleep with you.
Emergency! LinkedIn connected me to a hotornot hookup from sophomore year... slutty phase sphere has officially invaded grown up professional sphere. My illusions of interweb sexual anonymity have been exploded.
You were walking around in your swim suit, an open robe, snow boots and a death grip on that handel of captain morgan.
My asshole is basically a geyser at this point. Minus the excitement. Plus blood.
I send him pictures of my tits whenever I feel like he's paying too much attention to his girlfriend.
I think the moment I knew you were going to black out was when I told you how many shots you had already and you were shocked and then poured another one
There's s woman at the corner of the bar dancing by herself in her seat and making eye contact with me. Please hurry.
Her tits are absolutely massive. Like ripleys believe it or not shit
I found her outside drinking steak sauce out of the bottle.
There were firefighters and a fire truck up the street. I asked what was wrong and their exact words were "Just a tiny explosion; it'll be all right"
My moral compass kept pointing to his penis.
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