I'm at a work party and I don't know how to drink socially. You know, like slow?
okay im going to go eat, shower and find underwear... call if you want.... but ill be listenig to glee VERY loudly.
and I'm going to name my autobiography "blow jobs with enthusiasm are the best"
I'm naming my autobiography "Reasons Not to Date Girls From Texas."
Listen, what he fails to understand is that the Olive Garden does not equal pussy.
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Exactly. Because my vagina can't be consoled with words. It requires a thicker form of communication
Holy shit, Uber is testing a service to summon an ice cream truck.
Bring me the penis of the founder so I may endlessly fellate him. Or cunnalinge. I don't discriminate.
The packers need to win more often, Andrew keeps drunk calling me and confessing his undying love for me in between puking and taking more shots.
I just got my beard fondled by a drunk chick outside the venue. I feel slightly violated. And I think her boyfriend wanted to fight me.
wrestling a boy for fruit? sounds suspiciously like foreplay...
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Whenever I'm hungover I try to stay in public as much as possible, hoping to be a cautionary tale to children. It's a public service, really.
You just want to live out all your fuck fantasies with all these girls through me. I know your game. Well played sir.
He and I are in a competition of who can sleep with the most people at work. We're tied at two. I could win this if they'd stop hiring damn straight girls.
i knew my hormones were back to normal when i went to ikea and didn't want to fuck any of the workers
I texted him "my vagina is pounding for you"
I know, you made me proof read it.
She pooped on me during a reverse cowgirl. And it wasn't a little bit either.
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