So, after having sex with my 4th overweight girl in 2 weeks, I've decided Charlie Sheen syndrome is ruining my life.
I would describe it as pure and unadulterated shock, mixed with horror and a touch of nausea.
Just remembered i had an ordained minister bless my booze last night.
I just found my coat check number in my underwear.
Is your answer to that text seriously a right parenthesis
I'm the brains and you're the boobs of this operation.
It's a noodle incident. All I can say is that it was completely accidental, no one was too seriously injured, and I'm not allowed back to that bar without a designated pusher for my wheelchair.
all I know is this drummer better stop eye fucking me while he plays cowbell. it is way too early for that.
You continued to run around saying "free the nipple" while "taste testing" every liquor on the premises.
I just remembered I did the whole byebyebye dance at the bar
How's my sex life is me mastubating next to her dog. that's how it's going.
It's confirmed. I have two dates on Saturday, and they are both named Mike.
they gave me money. the money smells like weed. also they gave me weed
he ended the message XOXO, who the fuck does he think he is GossipGirl.
If you can wrestle my underwear off of me, you can top. It'll be like using an amulet in Legends of the Hidden Temple. Instead of not getting captured, you don't get fucked in the ass.
Randomize
