for on dont try to tell me you love me after three weeks of talking, for two if you are going to do that stay away from the song lyrics to a very good country song that you happened to ruin by using it, and for three erase my number im fuckin your sister now
complete strangers are now referring to me as 'the bourbon guy.' i can live with this.
At least they aren't charging us for the broken diving board...
I am sweating out the vodka to make room for the whiskey tonight.
Tinkerbell just flew up to me and tickled my balls. What the fuck did we smoke?
I wish my head, heart, dick, and nose could just agree on something for once
in case you were wondering, even a BJ under a blanket on the back of a bus only lifts a 14-hour bus ride to borderline tolerable.
Today's forecast: A sex tornado warning has been issued in your area. Counties affected include your bed, your shower, or your couch. This warning is in effect until further notice. Signs of a sex tornado include: your girlfriend coming up with a huge analogy to inform you that she's ungodly horny today.
Nah, this is the University of Tennessee. She'll get the clap, and get busted for having pot in her dorm by spring break. This time next year she'll be part-timing at a community college as a nursing major. So predictable it hurts.
Did I get stoned on a sunday afternoon and speak to someone on the phone for an hour about cats and their behaviour? Glad you asked. And yes.
You are so predictable. I am willing to bet 20$ that instead of going out you are sitting on your couch, stoned, watching Seinfield re-runs and eating cheezits.
1. they're goldfish. 2 fuck you
I HAVE A GENTLEMANLY VAGINA.
So shaving my butt whilst humming "be prepared" is now in my top five weirdest Friday night activities.
I think were only still together so we can make each other miserable
Currently standing at the bus stop in just a pillowcase and its fucking snowing
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