I wanna blow your doors off so bad right now.
Doors?
Rock your world. Blow you out. Skeet skeet.
After work we went home to fool around. Turns out he had sawdust under his foreskin. I'm never going down on him again.
Pretty sure I saw a dude across the room give this girl the international hand gesture for "I'm going to fist you later", she seemed ok with it.
Sometimes I wonder why I hang out with you. And then you show up half naked at my door with a half gal of vodka, and I remember why.
Hovering on the line between her being fuckable and me being too drunk to fuck. Life's juggling act in progress here.
It's not my fault you have a job and can't get drunk on Tuesday's. Don't take your frustrations out on me!
Robert just walked in drunk, grabbed my Jameson from me, told me to let him do his thing, and spilled it all over the coffee table. Then he told me to grab a funnel because he was going home.
I can't put those talents on a resume
I slept with one of the directors so you would get a good price on the ballroom for your reception. I'm the best MOH. You owe me bitch
After last night, I think I need a service animal to monitor the life choices I make when I'm inebriated. A monkey, or a clever dog. Or a really assertive parrot.
I can't sleep. My mind keeps asking "turn down for what?" but it won't accept any of my answers.
So apparently, after 11 beers, 2 pitchers of sangria and 3 rhum & cokes, the idea of popping a load of MD and jumping on the trampoline, in the woods, in my underwear was the best one ever.
It's like if you wanna bond just do a ropes course or have group sex you don't have to be weird about it
sorry bout the carpet, but you DID call it "blackout punch" not "don't vom on my floor punch"
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