If I don't come home tonight, I've died in a pile of gay.
Did I get blown in the bathroom? Yes. Did she throw up cranberry juice on my shorts? Yes. Did she finish the job? Yes.
I'd rather say I'm a whore then admit it's his child. Its that bad.
The whiskey is fighting the tequila on who wants to be the one who end my night first.
No, this is non-alcoholic oatmeal.
The floor and the wall just switched. I'm falling.
Today I'm judging my level of singleness on a scale of one to eat-a-can-of-frosting. It's not looking good for me.
Ooooh. Get funfetti
The worst that could happen is you end up with a black eye and I get laid.. I'm okay with my end of that bargain.
He started screaming when he saw my dog. He thought it was a polar bear
Tell me how you feel about belly buttons
Nothing $200 worth of strippers and spicy fried chicken couldn't fix.
She swallowed the key to the cuffs, I've been having to explain the pink fuzz all morning.
Rock bottom: having sex rejected while your boyfriend talks in his sleep as you stuff your face with Girl Scout cookies
I might be drinking a 4-day old opened beer on a Wednesday. You're in no position to judge me.
It would have only made it one day at my place.
whoever decided snowing in 90 percent of campus on a night when the streets are flowing with tequila and skittles was clearly not an R.A.
Randomize
