I know its small, but please -- stop calling it my "weenis".
I just caught myself dancing like an old lady in the shower. Have I reached the age where booty dancing stops and swaying of the upper body begins?
Let's just say there's a reason that "suede" rhymes with "laid".
Your doorknob is in my back seat, in case you were looking for it.
Rather than admit to myself he's hooking up with her right now, I choose to believe that he's not responding because he's masturbating to my picture, distraught over his poor choice, and trying to forget about the one that got away with a heavy dose of meth.
Apple should advertise that their phones are puke-proof. They would appeal to a whole new audience.
It's cool, I power napped on the dryer while they were fucking in the bathroom so I'm good to go now. Where are you?
I told you in the isle if you get the one that vibrates that I masturbating with it. Your fault.
Bullshit. You owe me a toothbrush.
She ran over a curb, took out a yard-sale sign and hit a fence before admitting to me that she may be losing her vision "a bit". Never letting grandma drive again.
Don't be embarrassed its me, I've licked your taint.
I just connected with one of your drug dealers on LinkedIn.
I just wrote a love letter to my weed and texted it to my cousin. I can't say it any differently. It happened.
I can't sleep. My mind keeps asking "turn down for what?" but it won't accept any of my answers.
Although now I have "number of cheese slices" as a unit of boob measurement in my head.
Apparently when you start crushing adderall and blending them into your margaritas calling them blenderalls you have "a problem" WTF
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