The last thing I remember is you asking me how to grow french fries.
yes we did fuck in his chapter room. yes it was demeaning. and yes, they probably will discuss it at chapter tonight.
I'm sitting in the corner at the bar with a poolstick in case a brawl breaks out. Some crazy shit is going down and I'm trying to show my feathers like a horny peacock.
Romantic bubble bath turned into splash war. We can't be adults about anything.
While looking for an apartment, I've realized that the way I rate balconies is on the "how easy would it be to smoke weed here" scale.
What other scale is there?
Dude..this is the third year in a row me and him have fucked at a super bowl party..does that count as a tradition?
I really need to create fewer "the time I was on drugs" stories for my future memoir, "my first year in San Francisco".
good luck with that
I seem to have forgotten that I am wearing a one piece bathing suit under my clothes
I solemnly swear I will not get your boyfriend puke in public drunk again
The pee I just pissed was about 7% better than the one at your house. But both are pretty far up there.
Where do you think black out memories go?
Into the dark abysmal abyss of the deepest, darkest part of your mind. It's obviously the bodies natural defense to protect you from witnessing the shit you do while actually blacked out.
Theres a handprint of sauce on my fridge, one on my face, and a trail of it leading to my bedroom, and sauce all in my bed, and I have no idea what the fuck i ate.
Boredom is so much more tolerable when you're stoned off your ass.
I know you do it only because of my toyota, but thank you for fucking me. Seriously.
How do I tell my boss I have slutty fantasies about him, me and his conference room table?
Randomize
