This is some kinda fucked up sordid doggy brothel peepshow bullshit.
my mother and i just seriously had a convorsation about why you cant Google "Refurbished Dildos"
Pooping in your heated bathroom to the sound of rain and instrumental guitar might be the greatest experience ever.
You kept whispering, no one does me like Jimmy Johns does me.
My patience ran out after you started clapping at the strippers everytime they took off a piece of clothing.
Take my keys. Load me into the vehicle. Drive. Get food. Come back. These are my demands.
the back of my hand read, "say no to drugs." my palm read, "say yes to shots." when the fuck did I write that?
Was my shirt on fire at any point last night? Because I'm fairly sure my shirt was on fire.
I don't understand how these people can do extreme gymnastics and I have problems walking up the stairs.
I think the universe has a conglomeration of sentences reserved only for me.
Our motto for the night: BLACK OUT OR BACK OUT.
That's our motto every night.
Explaining that I bought them at a strip club gift shop with my friend didnt make the furry handcuffs seem less weird
They found you popping and locking it alone in the parking lot
Excuse me while I gouge out my eyes.
In which case my work here is done.
Last night at a party someone grabbed my ass so I just fucking punched them in the face then went home and ate a frozen pizza
Randomize
