I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
Listen, I'm 30. If it doesnt involve a super soaker and some chicken wings, you can count me out.
First of all...stop making excuses. Second of all...Fuck the surgeon generals warning
Dude she was 62...with a boob job. And I'm proud to say I made out with that.
This just became a night full of adventures...and by adventures I mean hitting people with my car
I'm worried my skin won't stretch enough to handle this boner. Then what?
We exchanged snapchat usernames instead of numbers. Is that what America has come to?
Want to do me the honour of waxing my legs again before I go to Mexico? I feel like it's a tradition we shouldn't break.
My tits became the mascot for the SAE house last night.
And for today's main disappontment. I thought I saw a midget with fireworks get on the buss, alas it's a child with cleaning supplies
I don't think "growing medical marijuana" is Quite what my Grandfather had in mind when he thought me about gardening as a child
Spencer just told me I got home and was opening beers with my teeth and trying to make pot butter
dude i told her that I loved her...and she said, " go fuck yourself"
I'm not going to tell you how to live your life, which includes naming your schlong
I just remembered something from last night. check your closet.
Randomize
