Reflecting on last night, I'm not sure if making out with a 43 y/o married woman at Bernie's after the Cubs game was my best life decision...
im watching shaqs comedy special. this is how i know im not sober.
He just said "Chunky" very loudly in his sleep.
I dont think he stole the pillow. I mean if he wanted a souvenir, my thong was on the nightstand.
I woke up to her staring at me in a corner moaning over and over again about how good the pie crust tasted
i woke up wearing her shoes. this night isn't going on my highlight reel
just found a bag of Oreos in my purse labeled "emergency".
He had to carry me to the car. But then sat with me and waited for me to sober up enough to have sex. He's a keeper.
You may have cured my horniness. I feel like my libido just got shat on by kittens who live on an enchanted rainbow.
There is a bottle of ciroc waiting graciously on my breakfast table. It's almost a sign for me to live up to my Russian blood.
His search history includes homemade sex toys and a plunger. I'm scared about what goes on in their place.
If my bootycall doesn't bring over a Baconnator, I swear to fucking God, I'm not letting him in. The hunger is that real. Forget his Persian dick.
I accused him of not drinking enough alcohol and eating tacos after midnight. I was sober and he's not a gremlin. I would say bad.
why the fuck is there hamburger meat in the toaster. i repeat: WHY THE FUCK IS THERE HAMBURGER MEAT IN MY NEW TOASTER
The only words we could get out of him as he stared catatonically into space were "Everyone I know and love is dead"
Randomize
