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.
Everyone is hammered wasted already...young, old, the dying, babies...we got them all
that wasn't rum that I poured down your throat while you were sleeping
Weer fine. went to buiy cigxs, but hes theonly one waering shoes. He caem out wti chicke fingers instead. whatecer, there th 8 dollar kind.
This has been the most pleasant arrest experience I've ever had.
the fact that we had sex in the dining hall makes it seem so much more like home.
Just walk up to him nice, spread your legs like smooth peanut butter on toast and scream "LOOK AT MY BEAVER! LOOK AT IT!!"
ok. i'm ready for you to come back and test the structural integrity of this futon.
If you've ever wondered what a shitshow is, just watch me at the bar on a Friday. Or Tuesday. Take your pick.
We compared her boobs to bacon. I'm probably going to have to justify that.
I think if my mom ever finds out about my nipple piercings I'll just be like "mom, tbh it's a sex thing"
I mean, except for the part where I was vomiting up pineapple and hot sauce, it was a really fun time.
He's gone. He left a note but all it says is "Dear Neil" followed by a drawing of a hand flipping the bird in the direction of a butt.
I use my feet as sexual weapons
So, I can officially cross "getting eaten out in a church confession booth" off my bucket list.
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