Found a phone last night. Hope "daddy" gets picture messages
she "accidentally" hit me with her car, its almost as if she know im fucking her boyfriend.
I can practically hear my vag and my conscience fighting.
On an unrelated note: I'm also a big advocate of the "never waste a boner" theory.
So I think before Superbowl weekend begins we should all take a look back on last year and learn from our pitfalls... AKA no touchdown shots and kitchen crying.
Just found a uh poem I wrote on ambien. It says to "cry your seamen filled tears" and "I hope you take a dagger to your vagina" and at the end it says "sincerely, God". What.the.fuck do they put in that pill?
I fucked my cousin and caught chlamydia this year. I can't really harbour any illusions about myself anymore.
i came outside and he was eating her out on my lawn. i refuse to pick up the dog shit in my yard so i hope he chose the spot wisely
I cried at the bar for 30 minutes because I got my arm stuck in my sweater. I got free drinks for the rest of the night after the bartender helped me.
If a treadmill opens up I'll run next to him and then fall off so he has to give me mouth to mouth
The impromptu 'dance party' was just three white dudes flailing arrhythmically in the kitchen in absolute silence. Stone cold sober.
While I'm here in reality dreaming of catching chili cheese fries with my mouth out of t shirt guns like Jesus is real
I'm so glad I can be everyone's guide to the world of fucked up kinks
These last few days with George, grandma, and now Carrie all dying have been pushing me further and further into rum's sweet embrace.
There were 16 girls and 31 titties. That’s how the club was. Lance doesn’t get to decide ever again.
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