he was humming party in the usa while we were having sex.
And I know a few people wouldnt want to even be around high people. Which is sad. But jet packs are cool.
This place doesnt have redbull or serve shots. Its like they are at war with fun.
I would also like to inform you that I can no longer lay on my back because my tailbone is bruised from the nightstand. Good job.
We were squawking at each other for over an hour like chickens. Literally. Never touching the stuff again and never again showing my face at that Denny's.
Like that girl needs to get her shit together. For her vagina's sake.
I mean, I'm all about sharing, but when he tells me about his wet dreams about Oprah, I think it's taking it too far.
My bathroom smells like artichokes and absinthe. I am naming a perfume after you and using the money to buy new towels.
I am honestly trying to remember his name. All I can remember is that he had a weird mole, a daughter and a lot of cocaine. Please stop letting me pick up at gay night.
Why did you fed-x me a peanut butter sandwich?
It seemed like the thing to do. There's popcorn on it too.
STOP smoking sooo much weed. Damn
I found my weird threshold when Truth or Dare became everyone get naked and snort Adderall off the kitchen counter.
Like I owe him sex. Hell fucking no. I owe myself sex. With a celebrity. Or a clean pornstar. Who knows.
I feel as though my head has drastically changed shape
Here's a concept though: eating pasta while getting laid
Seriously where are the good guys?
The friend zone.
Randomize
