If I don't come home tonight, I've died in a pile of gay.
I should never bitch about not getting laid. He's begging me to come over and I'm saying no because I'm watching a Golden Girls marathon.
and unfortunately for you, hallmark doesnt make a "sorry i was getting a blowie in the backseat of your car while you were driving, projectiled my jizz onto your hand, and caused you to crash" card
we literally spent four hours convincing you that all 5 of your toes were there. no more everclear on a tuesday.
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It was honestly like finding a clitoris in a haystack.
He literally didn't stop until I lost count of how many times he made me orgasm. It took three hours.
I've spent the last ten minutes rubbing glue sticks on the wall
I mean, there was frosting being put on a tunafish sandwich. Pretty sure she knew we were high.
Woke up with the note 'going outside. Ignore bloody spoon. Be back soon' taped to my forehead. Know anything about it?
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Don't feel bad sweetie, you're not the only classy one in town. I'm still driving around with that tupperware of tequila in my cup holder from last week's Margarita Monday.
I'm just going to text him the word sex repeatedly until he comes over.
Did it work?
Duh, it only took 27 texts and 15 minutes and he was at my front door.
Is it too early to start pregaming for St. Patty's?
Whenever you're sad about your life, just remember that I'm on a first name basis with the late night taco bell drive-thru workers.
You know your horny when you have a sex dream about Ace Ventura, if your wondering he's awful
i told someone my fallback plan was to be a slutty bartender and i needed the practice as i straddled them to pour a shot