I fucked **** last night, don't tell mike
this is mike. we're done.
I'm good, just tired from chardonnay and giving hand jobs.
but the good news is i woke up with 15 dollars in my pocket so i probably sold my phone instead of puking on it
Everyone agrees they like your mother better drunk
I think Charlie st. Cloud is the saddest thing I can masturbate to.
She is high at the bar - she thinks the bottle of frangelico is aunt jemima telling her to stop doing drugs.
Now that I'm single, I like to think of myself as in a relationship with Taco Bell.
I just watched Matt try to put on a pillowcase thinking it was a t-shirt.
He told me we were going to a cabin. It's just logs and a tarp made into walls. This night can go either way at this point.
The fact that it was "anything but a cup" now explains the cowboy boots and fishbowl aftermath at the apartment.
Do exhausted, barely concealed hand jobs count as joining the mile high club?
Ok, not to minimize the significance of that beautiful anecdote from your childhood, but here's a video of my penis.
I woke up on the floor with 2 cartons of cigarettes, a box of chocolate bars, and a business card for a man named Larry. Don't remember him, but if the Rols on his card is his, I might throw him a mouth party...
Considering we almost incited a riot on behalf of LGBT rights I have to say that was the best time for our moral compass to turn south.
Oh and he asked if I would occasionally still blow him if we had children. It was so romantic.
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