If I could text you the sound of me vomming, I would.
Yeah, that's not really a good thing. Especially for a girl. You should get a tattoo on your stomach that says "Please wear a condom".
Listen, what he fails to understand is that the Olive Garden does not equal pussy.
I'll probably just lay on my couch bra-less sipping wine out of a straw so I don't have to lift my head.
When I was with you my penis felt like a fat woman crammed into a pair of lulu lemons
I'm just going to eat until there's an actual reason why he wouldn't want to fuck me.
There's a very drunk Asian strawberry shortcake crying on the curb next to my truck. I'm not really sure what standard protocol is for this situation.
I'm going to text my booty call and tell him nevermind, that I got the job finished by myself. That will teach him to text back faster.
This lesson is brought you by a psychology class.
Will give head in exchange for a Netflix password. Serious inquiries only please.
Filthy. I need to be power hosed with holy water.
You're a five foot adderall and caffeine fueled ball of sexual frustration and suppressed rage. It's only a matter of time before you snap. We're taking bets on when.
Dude. You dropped to your knees and face planted into the rocks. And continued to talk on the phone and laugh. That's where those cuts came from.
He yelled "I'm Bruce Springsteen!" when he came. This is why I don't sleep with guys from Jersey.
It was a frighteningly large penis to say the least
I'm taking a shower and i'm gonna bring my pocketknife with me
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