I'm currently googling how to make a dress out of a trash bag. It's going to be a great night.
Your philanthropic work just got me laid, thanks dad for naming me #2.
Fuck that. I'm not afraid to die. I'll prove you can survive on a bagel bites and rum diet.
STOP LICKING HIS MUSTACHE
Jungle juice turns everything into a pickup line. All I said was "do you play chess" and somehow I got laid.
If I don't quit picking up guys when I'm drunk, I'm going to need a vagina transplant.
You could totally spank that new found Catholicism out of him.
I just used Bacardi to dry out poison ivy.
I think the only option is to smoke so much weed I just pass out for 3 days.
The candles are lit, the magic circle is drawn, now all we need to do is get naked and see how many orgasms we can manage.
It feels appropriate that the wallet of my high school and college years would die at the hands of a spilled bong. Which in and of itself is a solid metaphor for those years.
FML I accidentally sent the text about his bruised balls as a group text that included his brother and my boss.
Woo is fucking right, dude. Vodka night tonight. Honestly, every night pretty much seeems like vodka night lately. My liver wants to move out of my body like I gave it an eviction notice.
One day he'll find out I do drugs and stop talking to me.
What will you do then?
Drugs, probably.
I think someone shaved off all their pubes in the handicap stall or a werewolf stopped by the office to take a crAzy dump!
Randomize
