I'm going to write a book about John. It's going to be called big dreams, little dick
Hey was my sperm eye the same day I crapped myself?
I know I'm really high but I swear I just saw him beating off to his fantasy football roster.
The investigator asked if we were sharing a pitcher of margaritas. I corrected him and explained that we each had our own.
That would warm my breasts.
In this context breast is a metaphor for soul.
STDs are my biggest fear, besides whales. They're so fucking big.
Regardless of age or alcohol consumption, the knowledge that my dad spanks my mom sexually has the very real potential to fuck my shit up.
When you're awkward as a teenager, it never goes away. You just mask it. With makeup. And boobs.
I'm gonna try Jim's breakup remedy this weekend.
Is that the one where you drink 3 cases of beer and rewatch as much WWE RAW as you can find? Or the one where you hookup with fatties on Craigslist?
Do you think the firemen will remember me?
Yes. But you were sloppy, sobbing, and puked on two of them. You won't get in their pants.
Like who turns down taking a nap inside of someone in 2014.
Any sexual interaction is meaningless without pizza during half time.
How long until you're healed?
Physically? A week or so. Emotionally? The scars of dislocating my knee at a frat and flashing my panties to the whole crowd wi never heal.
Apparently I promised everyone at the party I'd partake in various winter sports with them..
He's hot, clean, can actually cook, and best of all isn't a narcissistic prick. I found a unicorn.
Ride that fucker.
Randomize
