Moan for me like Helen Keller
She has an album entitled "my photography", which consists of about 80 different pictures of a tractor that she took on her cell phone. I'm all for freedom of expression, but come on.
This is worse than the time I broke into Subway to steal bread.
you know...the drug dealer i named my baby after.
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I feel like a fucking princess. Like an heiress of a kingdom of drugs.
You came in as I got off work, ordered us jack and cokes. Put them on my tab, and then proceeded to fall asleep on the bar.
I guess our biggest consolation is that we haven't woken up in a hottub with a dead dude. Yet.
...oh my god that's like anal suicide
I'm aware. I'm writing the eulogy for my colon as we speak.
I knew from the second he called his penis glorious that I was meant to sleep with him
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I love being high. The owl outside stopped who-ing and I could swear I just heard someone say, "Okay, that's a wrap!"
he stole a smokey from the street meat vendor and put it in his pocket when she wasn't looking and now we're drinking avocado margaritas
I don't need my coworkers thinking I'm a nutcase.
You gift wrapped a tampon.
I sang Seal's Kiss From a Rose to my quesadilla
I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered that I am being propositioned to have a threesome only if I wear my cat onesie
Kinda hard to look your partner in the face the day after a rousing game of How Many Ways Can I Capture Your Penis.