Our relationship is like that beach boys song "help me Rhonda" and I'm fucking Rhonda. And Rhondas's the whore in case you've never heard it.
Her vagina is like Vegas. high traffic and full of glitter.
she made me take her to the grocery store to buy a gallon of sweet tea and a shit ton of band aids, the cashier asked if someone was hurt and she replied "not yet.."
In order of importance: Where am I? Where's my car? Where are my clothes? Who is this chick in the room?
Anne's couch, the bar, your car, Anne.
Tequila pump. I'm ecstatic your engineering degree has real world application.
Send help, water and tortillas.
If I had a dollar for every straight boy that questioned their sexuality because of me, I would live a comfortable middle-class life.
its gotten to the point where if her hand isn't on my butt i think we're in a fight
My day went from bad to worse when I realized I puked out my second floor window last night.
My friend asked me if I got home okay and I replied "Glad teat. Goodnight." Usually I can translate drunk me, but I'm even lost on that one.
The look of disappointment from my cat while I take nudes...
Yeah you'd pretty much be ruined if you broke up with a guy like that and then had to return to the dating pool
He sent me off with a naked dance ending in a meat swing. I don't think I'll be seeing him again.
I don't care. It's wine Wednesday get your gameface on.
So drunk me is not subtlety trying to get her boss to cheat on her husband and have a lesbian affair with me. Sober me is ok with that.
Randomize
