Let's just say there is a bloody hand print above my bed and it's not mine. Literally.
He's telling me stories about how he made out with a 14 yr old when he was 22. I'm going home.
Our relationship is like that beach boys song "help me Rhonda" and I'm fucking Rhonda. And Rhondas's the whore in case you've never heard it.
he thought i was passed out so he proceeded to jerk off while i lay on the floor next to him
masturbating is 5million times harder to finish knowing grandma is in the guestroom downstairs. just so you know.
Would it be cruel if i sold xanax instead of adderall to freshman unfamiliar to the drug-taking profession?
I mean this holiday was built on cheap beer, shitty whisky, and processed meat... and I fully plan to honor that
I don't know how many crown and cokes he went through but I know it was more that I have fingers. We are never leaving Texas.
I hope so. I just start to question my lifestyle when i pee on coffee tables
thank god my boss can't smell the tequila on my breathe over the phone.
Come over. We're getting stoned and watching DogTV
There are some things you can ever unsee. And walking in on your dad jerking off is one of those things.
I broke my foot jumping out of YOUR window under YOUR watch. You failed me drunk guardian. You failed.
I had sex with him in the back of my car in a duck onesie. I'm worth something dammit.
I don't particularly remember setting a firecracker off in my hand. No more tequila.
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