So guy #2, the dancer, is programmed into my phone under the name H.uy. His number- 11 digits. I should have stopped drinking.
Yeah he kicked my ass... He probably wouldnt have hit me as hard though if I wasnt lauging and yelling " I fucked your sister I fucked your sister" over and over again.
She wouldn't stop saying her own name. Like a damn pokemon.
literally the only thing you kept saying was "i wish i had a beer keg vending machine that accepted hugs as payment" and everytime you said it you rubbed the urn her grandmother's remains were in
Im about to shotgun a beer using my mother's knitting needles. home sweet home.
I mean I drunk but not enough to handle a Scientology convention
Whatever dude, I don't feel bad about it. If my girlfriend finds out even SHE should give me a high five. That bitch was fine
i just snorted adderall with my patient's rolled up EKG strip from our last clinical. nursing school has ruined me. thought you would appreciate this.
This will never work out with him unless I somehow learn how to unhinge my jaw like a python.
If this nail lady pinches my achilles one more time im kicking her directly in her bedazzled boobs
I'm surprised I didn't lose anything last night. Except maybe my dignity but other than that we gucci.
fond memories of taking my pregnancy test here in this Burger King
My FitBit tracked the calories I burned during sex. Hello 2015!
All I need is a morbidly obese man masturbating at the other end of the car and I'll complete the CTA Horror Trifecta.
A reply to my tweet is getting more likes than mine, the disrespect is real
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