I had a dream last night that I was the one that killed Biggie
she's naming her girl london marie
that kid will be born with a tramp stamp
morning outfit: hottub soaked skirt. no underwear. someone's bandanna worn as a shirt. took me an hour to walk home. this isn't fun anymore.
sex on the roof is not as easy as it sounds
I know. I almost started crying. IN WHAT UNIVERSE IS THAT A TURN ON?!
hes supposed to be my fuck buddy. im not supposed to see him on his knees praying by my bed when i walk into my room.
Don't ask me how or why, but I'm drunk with German diplomats. Come over. Now
Whiskey??
It will be at least another 6 weeks before I say yes again. I'm bruised. I stole sex cards and a really nice pocket knife. I acquired a vial of my own blood. Talk about a yard sale...
If I have to go to the hospital, at least put my pants back on. It's been a fantastic night.
I remember sitting in your lap naked saying I don't want to be all looks while you gently rocked me back and forth
I just have to decide what I love more, food or dick.
We banged in my car doggy style with my head out the window. The sky was marvelous and I saw a shooting star. Its destiny; we're meant to fuck forever.
Its like people have to train for months before they try and drink with us and survive...
I'm in the fetal position trying to figure out a way to get someone to deliver me pancakes.
I've realized that my life is a cycle of high that is only broken by sobering up at work, which only happens because I can't smoke more
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