Last night is one of those stories you hear about on 20/20 right after they make a law banning 90% if what I did.
My Hamptons summer hookup resume reads like a walk-in clinic waiting list.
I walked into his room and he was naked with a half eaten pecan pie and a bottle of wine.
He ran five blocks just to watch me and my best friend make out. I think he's a keeper.
He's coming over for beer and a movie, but I just don't know if he's interested.
Pathetic and sad. I should come over there and fuck both of you just to get the ball rolling.
I wouldn't blow him for all the queso in the world.
I'd rather blow that homeless guy who asked me to breast feed him.
Yes. Be the home wrecker you've always dreamed of being.
I'm not so good at organized events that don't revolve around whiskey or playgrounds.
I told her shower beers are even better when you have someone in there with you and she said she's been looking for a new drinking buddy. It's a goooooo
...and that's why girls with IBS don't paint their nails
I really have to stop going to the movies high. Spending $10 to not know what the fuck is going on is starting to get pricey.
It's like I'm getting a welcome home parade with sex!
I mostly blame me being such a miserable fuck on the fact that I was born on a Monday.
How do I explain to work that I woke up in my underwear on a trampoline and that I'm not coming in?
I just puked into a clean basket of laundry.
Randomize
