BEES IN MY FUCKING PANTS. HELP.
There was jim beam in your oven. I just preheated it.
you wouldn't come out from under your bed because you said there were six-armed bears everywhere.
ohhh that explains the pepperonis I found in my sock drawer this morning...
no it doesn't.
You brought back some girl with you at 3am and introduced her to everyone as "hot pocket"
I probably should have cut it off when he started putting queso on my nipples, but within ten minutes I was a self-serve burrito bar.
It's almost like sex with her has gotten boring... like it's still good, but the creativity is lacking... it's times like these that i wish she still wanted me to gag her
any interest in drunk sledding later? if not, any interest in driving me to the hospital later?
I am particularly sorry about getting dome in your backseat. And for thinking you wouldn't notice.
My vagina would be awesome. I would be the most popular girl in the village.
I feel like the only phrases I can clearly speak while drunk consist of: i'm fucking drunk, chug, and shots
I don't even know if I LIKE sober sex any more.
direct quote from andrew "you know i can't hear when i drink whiskey"
Happy birthday and sorry I punched your friend in the face
Jesus Christ. Even your cock has to be an overachiever. :-(
She was riding a razor scooter down the street wearing nothing but a feather boa it was beautiful.
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