Yours is on the dinner table...mine is in my underwear drawer.
The only requirement is that his name is Kevin... All other factors don't matter to drunk me. Drunk me likey Kevins.
Not enough. Tell the person next to you to give you their drink. I give you permission. And then chug it. Be a hero tonight.
Half my face is frozen, my vagina is broken, I'm wearing only gym shorts eating a plate of mashed potatoes, avatar is on my tv. There's a naked guy on my couch whose name idk. I needa talk to you asap
Public service announcement: if you would like to continue receiving blow jobs, a 25% increase in fuck-giving will be expected immediately, and you're expected to give an actual flying fuck at least once a week. Brought to you by the ad council.
You kept trying to throw the grocery cart off the balcony.
At orientation, some girl is asking, loudly, where she can get weed. Everyone looks discussed but are paying very close attention to people's answers.
Nearly got hit by a blue bell ice cream truck. Can I count on you to make plenty of puns like "her life was sweet, and so was her death" at my funeral if that was to happen?
Nah. After about 5 shots he decided he needed to clean the gutters. We're headed to the hospital now so meet us there.
He sent me a picture of Reese's peanut butter cups next to his dick. Of course I went over.
I think he's trying to finish jacking off before throwing up again
I think I almost ran over some kid I went to high school with. Guilt factor: moderate to low.
He's my favorite late night booty call. He lives next to a Wendy's.
Well I'm glad your Saturday night went a lot better than mine. I spent mine crying in a McDonald's parking lot.
However many condoms you have, it isn't enough.
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