I'm dying. Please wear something slutty to my funeral.
My mom asked me if I was being satisfied, sexually. And then discussed positioning.
I brought up my Bobbly Flay drinking game in the interview. Of course I got the job.
I keep calling his kid the wring name. This is not helping my cause. And by cause mean his dick
If you haven't seen a huge black man in tiny red snowflake shorts that barely cover his dick, then you don't know what I'm going through.
My mom was looking at curtains for me and sent pictures and I had to be like "not the Disney princess pink and purple, more like an acid trip"
Well. Your father was, shall we say, privately surfing the Internet when he found a video of you and Kevin. This was on a very public website honey.
By the way, Kevin! OMG good catch honey!
you stuck pieces of bread to your face with peanut butter and asked if it looked like you had a facial yeast infection.
ohhhh that's why they asked me to leave...
We should go, because after those margaritas time is running out on my sobriety clock.
My heart feels like a grape in a barrel about to be crushed into wine
Omg you can't vacuum salsa that's just ridiculous
Well, if it makes you feel any better I'll be drinking tequila and doing lines on Halloween. Just like old days.
that game of battleshots got way too fucking intense. why does the couch have burn marks now.
Imma do four shots of whisky within two minutes and pass out. Otherwise this'll go badly.
I said "one day" and that day is not today
Randomize
