Our relationship is like that beach boys song "help me Rhonda" and I'm fucking Rhonda. And Rhondas's the whore in case you've never heard it.
Sweet. Might not hurt to poop on the floor anyway.
On an unrelated note: I'm also a big advocate of the "never waste a boner" theory.
Fat girl left in a hurry. Possibly had to do with the missing bathroom door in my apartment.
One minute we were getting noise complainted by the security guards the next I was shotgunning a beer with them
He ran into the room yelling "attack! Attack!", jumped on top of me on the air mattress, popped the air mattress, and then we had victory sex, because he was proud of popping it.
I woke up naked on his boat with a cowboy hat on with a boat cover over me... Thank you tequila!
You know.... I ordered the nipple clamps when I was drunk. But on further consideration, THANKS DRUNK ME I LIKE WHATS HAPPENING
Being able to fart in her presence and not be judged is why I pay half the rent.
He invited to drink but spelled forties wrong so no thx
So what if I got a tattoo on a bus, it was sterile.
And you know what the worst part is? Because of him I can now relate to a goddamn Taylor Swift song. FUCK. MY. LIFE.
I still have that dildo-suction bruise on my forehead and this sweater STILL smells like my Christmas Eve vomit.
Did anyone see us fucking last night on the giant turtle outside downtown Disney?
Do I masturbate or eat a pound of matazah. Alissa help what do I do??
Randomize
