I just spent the last hour reading customer reviews on amazon.com for the book "it hurts when I poop." Send help.
I'm heating up a hotdog using a candle.
Just heard a guy on the phone saying " ya ill buy the eight ball " then came to my register to ask what asile the sugar substitute is on.
I had to convince you not to write "happy birthday to the first guy who fingered me" on his facebook wall, right above the post from his current girlfriend's mother.
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Her bed looked like it had just hosted a water balloon fight. It was that good.
Hardly remember what he looks like and the man has seen me passed out spread eagle. I begin this journey with such a disadvantage.
Making a mobile stripper pole for the back of my truck memorial weekend. Is where dignity goes to die
if this uncomfortable exchange we're having is you trying to flirt with me i suggest you stop it before someone gets hurt
I'm sorry but the visual image of you suffocating on vagina is basically hysterical
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Henceforth: booty calls will now be referred to as "deliveries of anatomy". That is all.
Should I be flattered that she mumbled "You're the king of my face" before passing out?
We just FaceTimed and I put an Oreo in my vagina for him. Now he has to fly across the globe for me.
last night is slowly putting itself back together. Its one giant slutty puzzle, all the pieces are covered in tequila and shame.
These random guys found me. They told me not to wander in the woods and i remember saying 'am i fucking Bambi?! I'm not gonna walk into woods!' then i threw up.
I’m going down on him like an Oompah Loompah on roller skates.
That makes no sense, but good luck
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