I go to guys houses late at night, have a little fun, come back by dawn having made their life a little bit better. I am the official blow job fairy.
Now he's talking about how he's writing in a journal because he doesn't remember "his thought patterns when he was in elementary and that's distressing". I'm walking home. Fuck this.
You know the gilmore girls would be alright if it was on mute the whole time
I'm at the bar and they've turned up lady gaga to cover the sound of the fire alarm.
i'm getting the "you hooked up with my friends" speech from him. i'm returning with the "gotta keep my quota up" speech
I'm questioning the dried chocolate syrup on my tits.
You were fucking on a porch at a party, not much privacy should be expected
walking around pouring bird seed on passed out guys in the quad.
i mean, what better way to remind him of his failures in life than to fuck his roommate/fraternity brother?
She asked if I wanted to "Mormon Motorboat" her, which I guess is just motor-boating her through her cloths. Turns out I did.
I'm gonna have to get you a special blowjob bib -- like a lobster bib -- but instead of a picture of a little red lobster, it will have a picture of a penis, with 3 big squirts coming out.
I definitely don't remember licking the drag queens boob.
So from zero to dumpster fire, how shitty do you feel this morning? I'm hovering somewhere around trainwreck.
Anyone who does not consider cereal and wine as a balanced breakfast needs to leave immediately.
He grabbed at it like it was a stress ball or something. It's a boob, not a grapefruit. The fuck.
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