we didnt fuck last night. again. seriously, his place is like where dreams go to die.
The worst mistakes make the best memories. Write that down.
You were sitting at the bus stop holding hands with some Polish girl you just met, who was just as drunk as you were, and you kept trying to light your Kit Kat and smoke it.
Literally passed out while tubing... Boating while hammered is a blast but thank God for life jackets
You were humming mission impossible as we ran from the cops
He woke me up at 4am just to lick my nipple. Then he talked in his sleep for 20 minutes about the sex we just had. I think it's safe to say he's a weird one, but I dont care cuz he fucks like a champ.
downstairs . braiding the drunk passed out girls hair, she will thank us In the morning
I concluded last night that you have no tear ducts, heart, or sense of any feeling.
Check having sex on the rocks and dirt on the peak of saddleback mountain off my list.
I felt like a god.
It was everywhere. My dick was a sprinkler of lost future children.
So the day after the 4th I'm sitting here drinking Molson and watching NHL free agent frenzy. From patriotic American to drunken Canadian in 24 hours flat. Booyah.
Last week in my political science paper I quoted the Mighty Ducks. This week, I compared the Constitution to a weird pickle law in Connecticut (by law, it's not a pickle unless it bounces). So, yeah, clearly I'm ready to be back to being a college student.
He sent me a dick pic from work, but I could see all the pizzas in the background. Now I'm just hungry.
I'm sitting here listening to fat joe and doing kegels I have given up
I doubt the gods of funday Sunday would exact such a high price... But it's good to know an afternoon with me is worth a left foot.
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