Last night was an abortion. I might need a publicist.
you kept yelling 'bird cage' in between songs and finally the lead singer stopped to ask if you meant 'free bird' and you said 'fuck you, i'm not gay', needless to say you were kindly escorted out
no ping pong balls so we're playing beer pong with an ornament. you can't tell me that's not festive.
I think I might have accidentally had a threesome last night with two good friends. See, this is what happens when you leave me.
So my date night ended with us watching porn with his roommate.
Chapter 6 - how to lose your underwear in chicago
We interrupt your regularly scheduled Saturday morning programming with this important announcement: you are not the father. I repeat not the father. Congratulations and have a nice day.
She was kinda cute. So long as you don't mind neck tattoos and bad life choices.
he attacked my vagina with the force of a thousand suns
I don't know his last name, but he's in phone as Pat the conqueror.
I sent him this really overly apologetic text asking him out. It was just sad. Not even 27 shots of whiskey can grow me a self-esteem.
and it's like......my shirt is off and he's talking about quidditch. why.
He is currently passed out on his toilet. Point day drinking.
Uh I almost got the bride to go down on me. I'm the smoothest maid of honor ever.
I know right? It's like he knows how to pleasure me better than I do myself... He's like a prophet of sex
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