I was just texting to see if your vagina was working yet.
Either way I should probably pregame on the plane
A. What the fuck are period panties? B. Don't ever wear them around me... or bears.
And there I was, sitting Indian style on the kitchen floor, my fingers covered in peanut butter.
It smelled like mall pretzels. Of course I investigated.
The fact that both my ribs are severely bruised from shoving flasks in my bra might be a validation of my mothers alcoholic accusation
I woke up to a head of lettuce on my nightstand, someones Honda abandoned in my yard, the cat partially shaved, and a empty bottle of sailor hanging by a scarf from the rafters. Oh, and 26 people apparently came though and rubbed my back in the process of the night. Happy 23rd to me!
I know it sucks but it's just something that needs to be done though. Like shaving ur pubes or going to the dentist.
The best part is every argument that she makes from here on out will be refuted by "Oh hey remember that time you shit yourself wearing someone else's sweatpants at a frat party?"
New reason to drink: alcohol makes soda taste like goddamn gold.
Using all my books as packing buffer for my liquor bottles. And you said being an English major was worthless.
But seriously I don't know. I haven't seen her since I gave her back her 3 blind mice stick, and she just started hitting everybody with it.
He's over here like "remember those pics you sent me a couple years ago? Those were hot." And I'm like "remember talking about what we were gonna name our kids a couple months ago? That was hot." Therein lies the disconnect
What am I supposed to say? "Hey remember last spring when I did an ergonomic assessment on your office, well here's an ergo for your dick."
all I remember is screming at her "I want you and your tortillas... DEAD"
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