i cant remember past the part when we filled his tub with skittles.
next time a party gets busted lets get a group photo first.
"Tuesday" and "open-bar" shouldn't be used in the same sentence.
Just puked up hair, tacos and vodka. Hello Memorial Day weekend.
I vaguely remember walking down the highstreet with a plate of K offering lines to passers buy. I sold a line to a taxi driver.
He drew a face on his balls with a sharpie. It was like giving head to a unicorn.
We tried lying really still and being really quiet so that he wouldn't notice us before he left the room. Forgot about the glow in the dark condom.
Dad and I are shitfaced screaming at Canadians in Walmart. Life is good.
My gut feeling that we had reached a new level of intimacy last night was confirmed early this morning when you sleep farted on penis.
Check your mailbox. I left a "sorry I didn't have time to suck your dick today" consolation gift.
Aaaand the winner of the worst decision of Sunday night goes to me as I pull up to his house in my lingerie.
Tell the cops to let you through! Tell them you need to do drugs!
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.
Remember that one time you told the bartender he was fuckable? Well, he's here.
So how do I tell him I've been sleeping with his wife too?
Randomize
