There's a show on bravo about fat people dancing. FAT PEOPLE. DANCING.
This is god's gift to the unemployed.
So it wasn't until I came that he pointed out the glow in the dark plastic star still stuck to my forehead. Fun times.
you were stumbling around in your attic looking for all your swim team medals because you wanted to "feel like a champion."
I have to fuck proof my bed. It was in the middle of the room this time.
The whiskey is fighting the tequila on who wants to be the one who end my night first.
Confirmed. Vegetarians give terrible head.
Because of him my new motto is "Keep calm and fuck a guy with a beard". Yes, I am serious.
You take a step back sometimes and are like "when was the last time I was sober?" or "wow I need to stop putting everything in my vagina"
Is this an intervention?
Remember when we were coked out at that house and we were trying to meditate in the bathroom? Who's house were we at?
I'm not drunk because I think my blood just is alcohol from last night so being drunk is sober. If that makes sense
Depending on which video of him streaking you watch, you can see me passed out in the front row.
So when's a good time this week to show up at your apartment in nothing but a trench coat and a bow? Y'know. Hypothetically.
Reminder to self: never have sex on a trampoline. Trampoline burn hurts worse than carpet burn.
Her hand jobs are magic. They smell like vanilla and awesomeness. She made me forget how to walk
All I heard was "sit on my face" "okay" and muffled screaming. I'm still disappointed.
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