I woke up this morning under my fitted sheet and my legs through the sleeves of my sweater.
I closed that bar. Sang every Beatles song in the book. Made Somoan friends.
If I had a nickel for every time my parents threatened to stop paying tuition I would be a very rich man. Rich enough to pay my own tuition.
Only your wife would write 'for deposit only' on the back of that $1500 check knowing full and well our capabilities of spending it on strippers and booze
I don't care. I'll be that guy that eats cake in a car. Alone. With the doors locked.
HE HAS A FUCKING TWIN. HE HAS A TWIN. I'M NOT DRUNK THERE IS TWO OF THEM.
could you clean the juice and feathers off my bed I'm just not up for hangover cleaning.
Dude how did you get resin on my keyboard?
She screams like she's just fallen out of a helicopter when she cums.
I paused mid sex to tell him I wished I'd taken up barrel racing so I could ride better.
There is no try. Just do it. Yoda said that. Or Nike. I can't remember. whiskey
Post-sex nachos deserve a song.
In light of your oncoming completion of twenty-three years of personhood, I feel a pressing need to blast country-pop phenomenon Taylor Swift's hit single "22" in your general direction until midnight.
HE'S LIKE A GREEK GOD BUT HE'S FROM BOSTON. HE'S A BOSTON GOD
pray to him
I WANNA PRAY ON HIS DICK
And, by “make you dinner” I mean “have lots of sex and multiple orgasms.” So you should probably eat something and before you come over
And hydrate too
Randomize
