if my spotter knew I was listening to the Wicked soundtrack on my iPod, I wouldn't even be mad if he dropped the barbell on my throat
where are my pants?
you were passing out with two blankets and the person next to you was cold so you gave him your pants to keep warm
Washing the last semen-stained shirt you have really solidifies a breakup. It just got real.
explain the missing patches of hair on my cat. now.
She agreed that we could have sex whenever I wanted and I could let someone else meet my mom.
It's only 8pm and Karl already got a stripper fired.
he might be the rich husband I pretend to love for the rest of my life!!!!
Fuck Sunday funday. Fuck real pants. Fuck the sun. Fuck Jameson. Fuck my life. Yes, I am hungover as shit sitting in my office eating bacon.
I had such a pleasant walk of shame. The sun was shining, I smiled at all the high school suckers who judged me on their way to school, and I made friends with an old guy and his dog.
Post-sex nachos deserve a song.
She'll feel so accomplished if she finally gets to bang me.
after you got high, you started to make guac with your bare hands and said: "there's soda bubbles in my legs"
What am I supposed to say? "Hey remember last spring when I did an ergonomic assessment on your office, well here's an ergo for your dick."
I just want to bone him one last time before he moves across the country with his new (average looking) girl friend.
21st birthday weekend in Vegas has concluded and all I'm missing is my underwear and 'Contacts' icon on my phone home screen.
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