It must be a full moon weekend. All of my weird booty calls are coming out of the woodwork. I spent 40 minutes on the phone last night telling one why he is so creepy.
Best text conversation ever. Other than the one we had about using blood for lube.
why do our vaginas work when we are blacked out?? it's just not fair.
I think his glow in the dark Star Wars sheets, at the time, really turned me on.
It was like some kind of slut recycling operation. She gave me the shirt of the last guy she slept with in exchabge for mine so I didn't have to wear the same thing to work. She's been doing it for years
I would just like you to know that the guy I blew off last weekend to come find ur drunk ass just got drafted into the major leagues.
Moment of silence for the loss of that option.
Apparently 'check out this motherfucker' is not an appropriate greeting to use in the vicinity of sitting united states senators. Who knew
I just found a casserole dish in my oven filled with broken glass, blood, and chopsticks. And the REALLY fucked up thing is that finding it answered more questions than it raised.
No more vodka shots for you. Last night you begged a man on your knees to sell you his beard. He had no beard.
And really all I wanted was to be like "hey can I borrow your dick for a few hours this weekend?"
because i know somewhere at some party, behind someones closed bed room door youre being feed a key full of mollie.
Buying a pregnancy test at Walmart in the middle of the night in the middle of Tennessee is not really how I imagined my 25th year on this planet starting out...
My goal for the weekend: procure a blowjob using only stern glances, hand gestures, and crudely-drawn stick figures.
Also if i get drunk and start crying about the elephants you all have my permission to abandon me.
Dear Douchebag, I would just like to formally issue this fuck you. You will be receiving a letter in the mail soon. With all of your stuff.
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