He fucking owes me dinner after I gave him head under the deck behind the bar.
so it turns out, not only do the doormen judge the girls I bring home, but they rate them.
I have a ginormous moral hangover. Strip club blues.
i just wanna lock my vagina in a safe filled with bandaids and healthy things
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NO YOU'RE NOT. I don't want to hear that SHIT. Jameson appreciation day part 1 is saturday and YOU WILL BE READY.
Well I consider my vagina a dear friend. She treats me good I treat her good. We work together. Glad we could be of service.
I don't care if I just threw up. You kiss me now. This is marriage.
We found her on a strangers doorstep chanting "I know someone will let me in" it took 2 of us to drag her to the car.
Well my ankle is fucked up, everytime it pops I have a reminder of $200. Jager bomb night and the day we began to rebuild our friendship.
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He ate the contents of an ashtray and didn't puke, I think he can handle drinking a fifth to himself.
i hate going to her parties because i always know everyone there which means everyone knows my ex which means i wont get laid
I'm warming McDonald's pies on my heater cause I'm too high for the microwave.
he's a fucking beast. people that don't even know him have started calling him "puke and raleigh"
Don't worry, I'm sure your thrusting skills are on point.
All right, sex is off the menu for you. Now you just get friendship. So I can spend marginally less time being annoyed by you.