He gave me his business card. It was a Justin Bieber trading card with his number written in sharpie. I have to call him don't I?
I'm still waiting for my blazer that I left at your apartment, you owe me a blowjob for every day from Thursday on that it's late.
Nothing like an alcohol-fueled, 6-hour-long hunt for weed--complete with occasional breaks for sex.
She really is something else.
Words cannot describe what though. The best way to describe her is to say it like watching a bear and a whale have sex. You don't know why it's happening or how. But it's rather funny and you can't look away.
We're having Wednesday-night goat-night at the bar.
It's hard to explain...
There's a chance I told a cop that I was ready for him to strip I may have even taken some ones out of my purse and stuck them in his holster
You need a sexual gate keeper
drinking right out of the bottle and nobody bats an eye.
its good to be home.
My boobs love her too. She makes them feel important even though they're small
Literally the only clue I have to try and figure out my blackout adventures is a draft on twitter that just says "Mummies alive!"
Also, we found a geriatric Snoop Lion.
That's one good thing about being an only child. I can masturbate wherever the fuck I want
Because cocaine and lesbian hookups on a Tuesday cannot be the new normal
So hypothetically speaking.. say someone dropped their birth control pill in a hot bowl of soup, and it possibly disintegrated.. would it be just as useful?
Why do we always have to be the people who get blamed for animal intoxication incidents?
Randomize
