Tinder pick-up line, while extremely far-fetched, dragged out, and riddled with grammatical errors, showed that you won’t quit. And you still won’t quit after 45 minutes of whiskey dick-induced disappointment.
You have arms that deserve the Heismen.
You opened the car door. Or the restaurant door. Or the bar door. Or literally any door.
I shaved my legs and I didn’t want it to be for nothing.
I saw a Magnum poking out of your wallet.
You’re in a top-tier fraternity and I want to get on top of that face.
You’re in a bottom-tier fraternity but I need to finish my frat lap.
And yes, I’m putting it down as community service.
You’re a GDI and I wanted to branch out.
LOL, JK. I don’t touch GDIs.
You bought me a very expensive, extremely girly sounding drink.
And after chugging my sex on the beach, I wanted to, you know, have sex on the beach.
I wore my stripper heels.
You trimmed the hedges, and I appreciate the effort.
You kind of look like my ex-boyfriend. In the dark. With my eyes closed.
You look nothing like my ex-boyfriend.
You are my ex-boyfriend. #Reunion
You wanted a beej but there’s no way I’ll be able to swallow your load.
You’re rich. Like, really fucking rich.
You wore jeans and a V-neck.
You’re taller than I am, so I feel small and cute.
You’re shorter than I am, but if I don’t wear heels and kind of slouch, I think it will be fine. Plus, you have the face of a tall man.
I need a formal date, and you’re a guy with a dick and a future I can fuck up.
You said you wanted to cuddle and watch “The Notebook.”
My best friend told me to when we were in the bathroom.
My best friend told me not to, but fuck that bitch. I make my own decisions.
Rumor has it that you’re really big, and I wanted to confirm.
Rumor has it that you aren’t that big, but it’s okay.
You have a really good, uh, personality. When I was dancing with you, I felt that standing ovation you were giving me in your pants.
Rowdy Gentleman attire. You asked what I was up to at 2 a.m.
You did the naked man.
I’m going through a breakup and just needed a dick-straction.
I’m going to pretend this is totally casual, but I already have our entire lives planned out and I can’t wait to celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in France.
You spent more than $25 on our date.
Shots. Too many shots.
You complimented my outfit choice or earrings, or you said I was skinny.
You’re a Republican.
You’re a Democrat, but I’m feelin’ liberal with my morals.
You’re the ex-boyfriend of a girl I hate.
You’re the current boyfriend of a girl I hate.
I was really horny. And bored. And horny.
You made intense eye contact with me then did the ol’ hair tuck behind the ear trick.
Target had a two-for-one condom sale, and I couldn’t pass up that bargain.
You’re my best friend’s boyfriend’s cousin’s stepbrother’s childhood friend’s pledge brother. So, I mean, it’s meant to be.
You said the magic, meaningless, leg-opening words: “I love you.”
Honestly, it would be un-American to say no. And I am nothing if not a true American.
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