LETS GET FUCKED UP IN ONESIES TONIGHT.
I worry about you sometimes...
It doesn't matter if I tell the story beginning to end or end to beginning, the story still starts with a random girl blowing me in the bathroom.
Don't worry about it. Anal sex isn't always sunshine and wildflowers.
Disregard the shoes in the freezer.
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He is crying over the toilet and his friends just came in and tried to make him take another jello shot.
Gold rum. Strong marijuana. Jabba the Hut in stilettos. Deep thigh bruise. Yes, thal all happened. Sorry dude.
He's in a nude suit, bald, with a pink headband and a black sharpie streak down his forehead.
Nothing says Merry Christmas like gifting a bottle of rum and finishing it yourself then leaning over at the dinner table to puke it back up.
He told me the hickey on the side if his neck was actually a "bruise" from hitting a bird on his motorcycle. I'm not sure what's more impressive, the fact people believed him due to the size of the mark or the fact you gave it to him.
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so in other words, they broke and fell off and I ate a gummy life saver off of his balls
Never has jello made me angry to the point of drinking. But here I am.
Just in case you forgot, last night you came home drunk and pissed all over my laptop. You owe me a laptop.
Bottom line; if I'm coming out of my bat cave to do the dishes and get a chicken wing and I have no pants or makeup on and my messy bun looks more like Santa got leprosy and crashed his sled into the back of my head then let me be. That's all I'm saying.
You were just laying there on the air mattress watching spongebob with a knife. We tried to take it from you, but you insisted it was your emergency escape in case you started to float off.
I hate when I'm sexting and I make a typo.
You just killed the sext mood.
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