and that's why we call him explosion in my pants. no one remembers his real name.
There's too many weed/neon/felt Sublime posters in this room and someone just put on a Hunter S. Thompson movie. Save me, now.
he calls his bong barack obonga, commander in kief. i found where i belong.
You took a fire extinguisher off the wall in the hallway to play Ghostbusters.
You said "i miss him" not "i miss his dick." You're getting emotionally attatched. Shame.
There was a note in my hello kitty underwear telling me "don't go over 9000"
Am I the only one that feels like there are hundreds of tiny people having a rave and stomping and kicking around inside my head this morning?
... why is there a bottle of pee on my headboard?
You screamed 'no, YOU put some pants on' at a cop. I pretended not to know you.
YOU CAN'T JUST DO COKE AND THEN CALM DOWN
It might've been him telling me last night that he "doesn't even need beer goggles to fuck me." When I thought that was sweet, I realized something needed to change.
Lab coat again saves the day - hiding embarrassing shart evidence...
New discovery: your vibrator works on my balls. Technology is wonderful I love the future
The amount of dicks I have seen in the last hour is more than I have seen in my whole life.
He's perfect in every other way. Is buying him a cockring too forward or just honest?
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