All I remember is yelling at him to admit he liked Bon Jovi, then accusing him of giving love a bad name.
remember tomorrow: you burned the inside of your nose with incense. it hurt.
He kept telling me how extraordinarily clean my ears were.
Just because you put plan b in my Easter basket doesn't give you an excuse not to wear a condom.
and on the second day it was tequilla tuesday. and the lord saw it was good.
I don't remember what you were saying to me in the bathroom. But whatever it was, yes, because i remember nodding a lot.
MY BRAIN IS OSCILLATING. DOES THAT EVEN MAKE SENSE
maybe facebook could make a notification like "someone tagged a photo of that guy you used to bang and still think is really hot with his shirt off"
It's gotten to a point that when guys say "I'm gonna cum" I've developed a habit of responding "dooo itttt" in a deep voice. #isthatweird
and then I partied with my new dealers deaf pit bull. All around a good night I'd say...
how don't worse things happen to you?
Yeah, I probably need some combination of electric shock, massive quantities of LSD, and enough couch time time to make Woody Allen say "Enough".
My mind doesn't wanna day drink but my heart does.
I have just received a gold-medal-deserving sext. He wrote me a fucking novel. Not only am I incredibly turned on but I am beyond impressed. He is the sext god. I must bow to him.
just licked whipped cream off some model's nipple... just coming clean for when the pic gets on instagram because i am not untagging that shit
Fine I’ll come with you but you better tell that guy to wear some longer shorts because the second I see a rogue nut I’m gone
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