its like playing clue every morning after we party. she did him in the kitchen with..oh god.
maybe i'll see you again later :)
I'd rather shit a knife.
Just bonged a beer from a vuvuzela...this place is only doing good for me
When she e-mailed me back asking for proof, complete with hospital intake records, I just told her it was a home-birth. I'm prepared to take the fail.
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I keep waking up with the nagging feeling I gave him half a hand job through his shorts.
I don't remember much of half-time. I do remember climbing onto the roof of the fraternity and telling people I was going to stargaze in French.
we should look into getting a golf cart for the weekend. i have a feeling legs wont be a sufficient source of transportation.
hey now, it was 6 bucks for 5 shots. you would have lost your panties too.
you really need to remember next time not to write your name and phone number on the paper its wrapped in.
But what if it got lost?
its illegal. you dont want people to contact you if they find it.
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Well, we ended up labeling the relationship. We are now each other's designated butt-toucher.
Our drunk hook up was interrupted by the delivery guy. When he came back to my room we ate the gyros and went back to sex like we didn't take a lunch break.
Even in drag you're still better looking than your sister.
Where do you think black out memories go?
Into the dark abysmal abyss of the deepest, darkest part of your mind. It's obviously the bodies natural defense to protect you from witnessing the shit you do while actually blacked out.
Stranded. In bathroom stall. No toilet paper. I repeat NO TOILET PAPER! Assistance needed asap. GO! GO! GO!
I guess we coulda said a little less mature audience and a little more e for everyone.
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