she cant drink. allergic to alcohol.
ewwww. she might as well have a dick.
Probably should plan this out. Step one: grow stache. Two: get trenchcoat. Three: Kidnap Selena Gomez.
I had better be fucking involved with step four.
I look like a poor person in the cast of Gay Oliver.
Literally 6000 elephants in my backyard.
The theme is smores and alcohol. Dress appropriately.
you were leaning against the vending machine asking if there was a shower you could puke in.
If I buy you $300 worth of popeyes, will that make up for me trashing the house?
Let the record show that the first hour of my twenty-first was spent shooting tequila ans discussing the emotional integrity of werewolves.
And regarding bottomless mimosas stopping at 1 pm, there was a chick who drove her car into the back of the bar. Blame that bitch, not you peeing in the koi pond.
God dammit. My lube leaked all over my passport
Taylor Swift needs more songs about threesomes. I'm not sure she gets me anymore.
Last night I watered my lawn and smoked a joint then cooked a steak. I'm really killing this adulthood thing.
I'm not fucking any of these fools. But if they want to buy me Olive Garden, that's their business.
He adjusted my bra straps while I blew him.
You’re better off without him. Actually, he’s better off without you and that’s what really matters
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