They have to be talking about me. I never heard that statement until I was born.
Apparently last night I sat at the bar with an upside down sharpie lightning bolt on my forehead, yelling "It's Harry Potter's birthday! Let me be on the qudditch team!" And I kept calling the bartender Dobby. There are videos.
White boys cant dance....we did an empirical study
friends don't let friends hook up with gingers.
Just had a handjob preempted by a huge bolt of static electricity leaping from her fingertip to my sack. I hate this time of year.
According to the stories I've heard I decided I was a stuntman after my 6th shot of Jack
Hypothetical question. Say I was bleeding profusely, close to your house, and needed a place to go to clean up and perform minor surgery on myself. Like now.
Fighting the urge to throw up all over my little brothers jr high basketball bench. Welcome home aaron
Don't be embarrassed its me, I've licked your taint.
It's like my life is one of those movies where after a bunch of outlandish events that only happen in a movie the girl realizes her true life calling and lives a great life with a sexy man of multiple races. But I'm stuck in the fucked up part where 25 year olds come in their pants.
My ass is underappreciated
Question: have you ever spent your Tuesday evening helping your one-night-stand create a resume? Because I have...
We couldn't leave for the bar until he spent 10 minutes adjusting his vaporizer. I want to drown him in beard oil.
I'm mainly pissed because I shaved fucking EVERYTHING for this. WITH SHAVING CREAM. Men do not appreciate how rarely that happens.
Had sex on your trumpet just an fyi.
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