Memo to the bitch sitting across from me at Swamp: no one thinks you're classy with your Louis Vuitton and your Burberry scarf when you're dragging on that cig like it was the last cock on earth and you needed cum for sustenance.
fighting downstairs. join me tonight to hear their makeup sex. also, let's make skittles vodka.
drinking warm bud heavies i found in the garage and googling how to tell the gosselin kids apart.
I knew my chances of getting laid had increased after she walked into my room and yelled "DICK TIME"
Note: footlong is not the password to the subway wi fi network.. p.s- im super high
My main thought on the Olympics: I need LESS cowbell.
You know you're an adult when you break 100 to get 75 cents, to buy a condom from a bar vending machine in South Boston.
Bro. Some kids just drive-by judged the shit outta me.
She told me I made the cut, and to write my name and number on the white board by the door. I was the 7th number down.
That is NOT what pussyfooting around means. Try that again with your toe and I break it off.
It's not an office Christmas party until your boss confesses his undying love for your boyfriend...
I just wanted to warn you I have strep throat incase I gave it to that guy we both hooked up with on New Years.
Just licked cheese from my hot pocket off my phone. I spilled because I was eating a Popsicle at the same time. Send an adult please
We need to stop going on dates to the strip club.
I want to conceive our bastard child on an athletic field. Why can't we make this happen?
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