So guy #2, the dancer, is programmed into my phone under the name H.uy. His number- 11 digits. I should have stopped drinking.
I got an MIP via FUCKING HELICOPTER. Tuscaloosa police either have nothing to do or too many resources.
So if we break up over this are you still gonna come over and do my dishes?
He's Hawaiian. Thank god it wasnt a real American
in my lab write-up should i mention that i watered my plant with tequila?
I held a cracker & gaterade down for an hour. I feel like this will be my greatest accomplishment of the day.
The pastor just stopped the sermon to lay hands on me. THAT hungover.
We're downstairs cleaning up and she turns to me with these big puppy dog eyes and says "Just so you know, I didn't have sex on your couch". You have to hug that.
this whole "benign brain tumor" is truly a blessing in disguise. I almost want to start bringing MRIs to the bar because sympathy pussy is flowing like the nile
At one point we were both in the bathroom and i was taking a shit while holding your hair as you puked in the sink. Friendship.
gay sex achievement: unlocked
what
you told me you were going out for groceries!!
I want to die, ON THAT, with that INSIDE ME. ironically, I sense that would be the only time I'd feel alive.
The not so cute guy next to me made me play Kid Rock on the jukebox but I'm a big believer in free drinks so I obliged.
look, im sorry that i yelled at your little brother, threw my car keys at him and smashed a stale cookie with a pool cue, but i swear to god i didn't poop on the floor. it was one of your dogs.
He ate me out in the warehouse on a pallet of sunlight soap. I fucking love night shift!
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