I sat down with you and helped you write your will last night. I was THAT convinced that you weren't waking up.
I think you're asking the wrong person. You don't understand. Like I would fuck the act of fucking itself if I could.
He's trying to get everyone in the bathtub for a team meeting about how we're gonna find his car. Which is parked outside. Think we should cut him off?
I'm riding in a wheelchair, being pulled by a golf cart. You need to be here.
Can't promise anything, there's vodka in my thermos
I like my landing strip. Makes me feel sophisticated.
What you did last night can never be called sophisticated. I don't care how you trim your pubes.
I found him. We're on the way back to the condo. He was sitting in the lifeguard stand letting people passing by take pictures of his nipples for a buck each..he made 15 dollars
I take back all of the insults I've ever said toward those money makers
I am trying to think of a way to tell him about thanksgiving and the following weekend in a way that makes me sound funny and exciting and not like an alcoholic
I don't think I even want to know why you are sending my husband pictures of your nutsack.
Take a shit and have a hit. It's the Sunday Funday Rule.
Moral of the story: next time my plans include you and bourbon, I'm packing a toothbrush.
I finally broke my dry spell. I did it. D-do-da-Dora.
Yiu ever laugh so hard you stop breathing? Turns out weed -can- kill you.
he stopped mid makeout and said "can I pray for you?"
I came home in someone else's underwear this morning
Atleast you got a souvenir
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