i love when people i haven't talked to since we fucked write on my wall.
when "blow-job jen" drunk dials you at 3 in the morning, you answer
Fuck. That. I'm gonna get drunker and make them regret they EVER put me at the kids table. I'm a MAN.
The prostitute across the street from us is having a seizure on her front lawn again.
We stole a cat. That is all you need to know.
Yeah well my vagina has expectations too but they don't get met all the time.
I told her she can't come to our bonfire because she throws up on herself & she has a mustache. And now apparently I'm a bitch or something.
I'll be there. With Doritos and whisky. Don't expect much more.
Please stop using me as a reference for bail bondsmen.
I ate the last cupcake. I'm sorry. It was in the refrigerator mocking me. So I ate it. And it was glorious. But I'm sorry.
I asked him to make me two boxes of macaroni and cheese. That's like eight servings. How did I think that was an okay amount.
Question #1: Why am I on my living room floor? Question #2: Where did the bloody footprints come from? Question #3: Why are there two McChickens next to the wine bottle?
Do you know anyone else that comes home with unexplainable injuries as many nights a week as we do?
I absolutely love waking up to see my phone search history is "xj" "qj" "cj" "uj" and "kj"
Why can't he see that I don't want a slow getting to know you period? I just want to bone. NOW.
Randomize
