It's like the Sean Connery of vaginas. You don't mess with it.
You said you didn't deserve to walk so you started crawling down to your room
you convinced the bartender to un-cut you off by letting him touch your boobs whenever you ordered a drink.
you started keeping track of only every even numbered drink you had
She told me I was lying in front of her toilet for an hour saying "lasers."
I swear the pregnant cashier was jealous when I bought my plan B
I could seriously attempt to try and saw my head in half with a butter knife cause im pretty sure it could not hurt any more than it already does
She just had to change the song on the radio cause I was tap dancing on her windshield
I have got to stop making out with redheads. I need to sign my life over to my dad like Britney Spears.
It's that time of the week again where I begin to ponder life's great questions like, "What will my pathetic excuse for a future look like?" and "Why tacos?"
Now I'm heckling that my belch is more exciting than their fireworks and I peed down the driveway.
You drink it until you puke in a vent one time and it's ruined forever.
I think you'll be amused to know that I achieved the impossible feat of tripping over my own dick
What I'm doing now is like me taking a bagel, dropping it butter side down, leaving it for six years, picking it back up, and trying to fuck it
Just wanted to share my unfortunate vagina news in the hopes that it would make your vagina feel better about itself.
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