last night was a success...if success means i don't remember the guy's name and my panties are somewhere in the parking lot behind the bar
He is such a gentleman, he paid for my plan b
I wonder what it would be like to be a slice of cheese.
So shortly after drunk sex...she starts crying and saying..." you don't care about me, you never do anything nice for me" so I called her a cab
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May or may not have found my way onto a stripper bus. To Chicago.
It's cute how he thinks we're going to have sex again
He looks like he has a penis
What the fuck
A good one, a good penis
then my gynecologist said "its like opening up buried treasure"
Nope my penis exudes pure oxygen in times of crisis.
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the last thing i remember was the norwegian kid tacking a bag of wine to the ceiling, then boom! shower drain.
And all I ask is the occasional "welcome home from work" blowjob.....and for you to fold my laundry. I hate folding laundry
I felt like... 50% confused and 50% like a slow roasted flip flop.
It's like everything I need in life within a five block radius: booze, toilets, dogs, dicks.
You started pulling out condoms from your fanny pack and threw them at all the couples on the beach
So last night, I bought mother's day cards and the Plan B pill.
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