i puked out the bus window last night on the way home. i remember it, but i don't remember everyone else screaming to put their windows up.
Tell me why I go to the dollar store for nail polish remover and a ghetto black dude trys to hit on me in the parking lot, then he gets in line behind me with a dousche bag literally and that is his only purchase.
i effin hate jeff goldbloom.
but i totally would still bang him
I closed that bar. Sang every Beatles song in the book. Made Somoan friends.
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We're exchanging pot brownie recipes in my substance abuse class. This is going to be an awesome 7 weeks.
I would have to gauge my vagina to make it fit.
the head trauma was worth the blowjob.
She scratched my sunburn during sex. I didn't know whether to cry or cum
Life just isn't the same without him waking me up at 4 in the afternoon with a look of pity on his face...
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Dude, we apparently put a washing machine drum in that back of your truck with the full intention of making a bonfire in it.
It's meant to be, Cynthia. You, him, and your developed breasts are meant for each other.
I also made him write a nonfiction romance novel about what happened and to give it to me when the time was right
I guess the wine stains on your shirt and the $2 vodka tonics you're sweating out just scream, "Welcome to DC, please ask me for directions."
I lose my morals, my dignity, and my selfie stick :(
I need a beard to bite.