Our relationship is like that beach boys song "help me Rhonda" and I'm fucking Rhonda. And Rhondas's the whore in case you've never heard it.
you kept calling numbers in ur phone book and saying, "I love your show, I'm a long time listener, first time caller."
apparently i traded the tiffany necklace my mom bought me for 2 shots and next in line for beer pong at the frat.
I often get tempted to walk up to her drunk ass and say, "shouldn't you be taking care of your kid?"
as we were stuffing their 24 of beer into our bags you kept saying you wanted cheese strings. closest things we found were kraft singles. as the guys came up the stairs you kept screaming 'GET THE CHEESE! GET THE CHEESE!'
I wonder if I could sublet my bathtub to anyone.
put me on a leash or i'm going to fuck someone
Well, my nose won't stop bleeding from really bad cocaine and my purse is full of plastic gold coins. Also, someone saved in my phone as "tyrannosaurus sex" won't quit texting me. Savannah won. Let's put it that way.
Omg. I felt like a crazed animal last night. My lesbian instincts burned a hole in my panties.
Did you just reference Ludacris during my possible pregnancy scare of 2012?!
Just don't eat pie out of the sink. It's a real blow to the self esteem.
Seriously I just dipped a banana in vodka I really need to stop drinking
It's a little sad/awesome that I scored coke within 60 seconds of walking in the bar.
The student becomes the teacher.
I'm about to make existential crisis tacos.
You spilt a drink on my couch, then used my dog to mop it up... you called her a mop dog, repeatedly
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