There comes a time in every man's life where he has to shit in a catbox to prove a point.
I don't appreciate you drunk dressing passed-out me in spandex for bed
The last thing I remember is trying to split my bridesmaid dress down the back like the incredible hulk.
and you succeeded.
The good news is that I can 100% reassure you that you did not get knocked up by some creepy Italian dude named Sal Manella last night.
The bad news is that you will never know the name of the guy who may have gotten you pregnant last night because he clearly gave you a fake name, sweetie.
I've woke up in his bed 4 out of the past 6 mornings. I feel like this might be the time to learn more about him then his first name and what kind of beer he drinks.
I went in the closet and cried, then the bathroom and cried, and lastly he showed me his penis and I cried. It was a weird night.
Why is it that when I sustain a serious injury people are more concerned with my level of inebriation than my personal safety?
I was just doing the math on how much beer we need for the houseboat. in doing so, I came to the conclusion that we need to open a beer distributor business.
Feels like I ran a marathon last night. A tequila marathon.
I wish I were single again so I could actually have sex.
I never truly understood the phrase ball is life until I started having to balance NBA finals and all these men with balls i'd like to handle.
That girl is like a master class on how to be an unlovable crazy person.
She left a cookie cake on my porch, and the frosting reads "I'm sorry". She left me an I'm-sorry-for-punching-you-in-the-face cake.
She is either doing really drawn out crunches or trying to sniff her boobs...She's lying on her back with her hand behind her head, forcing her head into the cleavage that's ok to expose and then moves her head back and then does it again.
she wouldnt leave because they were playing One Direction. I'm dating a thirteen year old.
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