He smothers me through text. I can't even image what he'd be like in person.
Was finally able to jerk off without the motion giving me a migraine. Think my hangover's getting better.
I have shoes on. No pants. And my jacket pockets are full of ketchup and grass. Yes. Good night.
My booty call got married. Come over before I start tagging all the places my dick has been in her wedding photos.
thank you whoever used my nalgene as a flask. pregamin in chem
Last thing I remember was wondering why there was a mirror on the wall behind the urinal and then realizing I was pissing in the sink.
My Saturday dick is so much more impressive than my Tuesday dick.
You don't understand. This could be the last time I shave a star into my vag. Get over here.
There was a time I was reining queen of Sunday funday... And at that same time I also weighed 20 pounds more, had the morale of a spearmint rhino stripper, and woke up most mornings asking more questions than fucking Barbara Walters. I think I just wrote my own epitaph.
Andy was trying to screw his door shut from the inside so no one could get in.
Successfully put eye drops in while driving with my glasses on. Stoner level: expert
How did they ever let a trainwreck like myself run a bar?!
Dude, no, you tried to sleep on the stove. I mean. You were pissed when I stopped you... but I couldn't have you catching on fire in my house.
And a hot pocket after we fucked. Heaven.
no, it was more of an i-don't-think-he-even-knows-what-a-clitoris-is, bad.
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