so last night my mother drunkenly told me that maybe the reason why I want to be a vet was because I was conceived doggy style.
he asked me to smell his eyeballs.
The bathroom is trashed. Someone took down all the rings of the shower curtain and Scott threw up on the curtain liner. All the soap and shampoo is in the guest bedroom and the lightbulbs are in a drawer. And there are vom footprints.
He started to lose his balance halfway through his "commencement speech" at the top of the staircase. The rest is bloody, profanity-laiden history.
No need to talk. Eventually, he'll either stop coming over, or decide that it's a relationship.
And if not?
...I keep getting free bourbon and great sex with no expectations. You really don't understand that there is no "down side," do you?
Another day, another engagement, another cat
I know I've wanted to fuck him for the past month, but when you're that hungover, the only chemistry you have is with a pillow and a gallon of water.
All I know is I got on a table at late night and sang gotta go my own way
So I'm pretty sure I told every one at the party that "I'm going to fuck my pillow pets tonight?"
Don't do shots out of Tostitos scoops.
Definitely just threw up in a mcds cup going through Wendy's drive thru. I'm way to hungover to go to work today
I still can't believe that dog licked my nipple.
Get your ass back to America. We've got a lot of drugs to do.
If he wants a future he'd best figure out the calendar function on his phone. If he can invite you to his penis he can invite you to his google cal.
Hey I need you to run the morning meeting, for reasons I can explain when I find out where I left my car
Randomize
