I'm at a bar that has girls so awful looking even you would not have sex with them.
Well... I doubt that.
just jacked off in the bed i was conceived in.
May or may not have found my way onto a stripper bus. To Chicago.
That's ok. Our relationship has a solid foundation of booze and questionable behavior.
This is one of those times where I really wish my vagina could tell me what happened last night.
Why do I feel like the only way for this trip to end is alcohol poisoning?
He just walked up to be, grabbed my boob and said 'i think they have shrunk' i have no idea who he was.
Me and my vagina aren't speaking at the moment.
I told the bartender that he could give me back the tip I gave him if he outsmarted me in a battle of wits. He has yet to challenge me.
He went THROUGH MY PHONE (he's 30 for God sake) then asked me why I was stringing along 12 guys... I told him he could have just asked me if I was banging other people and then saved himself from looking at pics of dicks bigger than his.
Nothing like coaching 5 year olds with a bunch of visible bruises from last night's drunk bondage sex.
Oh? I just remember dropping coins and trying to give the manager change to let me back into the bar.
just the thought of you slurpin down noodles really rustles my jimmy
you suck at sexting
I already plan to donate my brain to science so they can attempt to fully understand the complexities of my existence
Listening to sad Lana Del Rey songs together is an integral part of the lesbian bonding process
Randomize
