Either these are mashed potatoes in my pants, or I was drunker than I thought.
I just drank Colt45 out of a champagne glass. I feel classy.
Colt 45 out of anything is classy.
It feels like Jesse James cheated on America.
I don't care what he thinks. My vagina has an open door policy.
Do you think the Slutcracker will use the original score? I'll be so sad if they don't.
The usual, bring face make up, I have a weird gash on my nose, probably from my one night stand
They invented the twister shot game. You put a shot on each circle, take it when you land on it, and if you fall, they funnel the mat and make you drink it. New best friends.
Yeah, I wish I could have one upped you. But all I did was ride circles around a cop on a stolen bicycle while laughing at him for telling me to stop riding on the sidewalk.
And I was chasing apple pie moonshine (provided by cops) with bud light limeys. In a golf cart, wearing a tiara.
I feel I must have sex with him first to fully decide where my vagina belongs.
The notification you get from snapchat that someone took a screenie is like a formal declaration of blackmail.
I was using my Beauty and the Beast blanket as a makeshift skirt because no pants
Nothing says I love you as your fiancé bringing back home your drunk brother from his own stag party
Jesus christ. I put you on speaker when you called me last night and you told me to brush my teeth with a dick.
Consume your own penis you ugly freak.
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