Silently passing ghastly beer farts as I move around the bridal department at Tiffany's. Call it my contribution to the holiday spirit.
I feel like none of my dresses scream slut the way I'd like them to
One of two things would happen: He'd love it, or you'd get a restraining order.
Second night spent with creepy guy. I either need to change his nickname or stop doing this.
...oh my god that's like anal suicide
I'm aware. I'm writing the eulogy for my colon as we speak.
Our neighbors just passed us a blunt from their deck, and are hooking us up.
I just baked them cookies. We're friends now.
Remember camping when you drank 36 beers to yourself in one day and puked in your tent? Ready for round 2?
Nah. And this is true. It's like you were trained by sexual Jedi or something.
*jedi wave* this is the penis you were looking for
Want to go home, so casually slip my underwear in his pocket. Never seen him grin so big and say goodbye to his friends.
I feel so nauseous and all I want is string cheese. My life never makes sense.
ATTENTION PENIS' OF BURLINGTON: I AM COMING FOR YOU
I have a corndog on my dresser and a trashcan of puke. Thanks for a great night!
And what in gods fuck were you drinking. It tasted like windex with a mixture of juce
Public service announcement: Just bc it is Margarita Monday does NOT mean your stomach will readily accept that much alcohol. There IS a reason it isn't called Magical Monday. On that note, better luck on Tequila Tuesday.
I wish the guy in the stall next to me would stop moaning while taking a dump.
I wish you'd stop texting me from the toilet.
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