Trimmed my pubes and broke your paper shredder. Separate events.
We had to use the stains on Phil's shirt to try to piece together what happened last night.
either way he was missing a nipple.
We're upstairs smoking....the password is pineapple
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You were like pukeahontas last night, you tried to tell us you were okay, then you puked in the garden.
we've been together for three years, and i still get excited when i know i'm going to give him a blow job. it's that kind of love
constantly striving to make life awkward and more complicated, one drunk bone at a time.
I had to break up with him he didn't understand my priorities. I'm sorry but Saturday nights are for pot and Doctor Who. I'm not going to change who I am.
We don't really communicate like that.
Communicate like what?
Communicate like people who want to see each other when their genitals are inside their pants.
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I've got the dick your vagina needs, but not the one it deserves right now.
You know I'm dangerous when I have make-out withdrawals
I was going through my settings and the phone randomly started playing "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" by Dwight Yoakum. Out loud. At full volume. I was shitting. There were 3 other people in the bathroom. I love iOS 7.
I walked in on him pumping himself up by headbanging to the drumbeat from Jumanji.
His face matches his life choices. Both are train wrecks.
He just stopped in the middle of undressing for sex to dip his slice of pizza in ranch. I think I’m in love.
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