That cute girl I hooked up with last night clawed my back to hell and gave me a hickey. I look like a white trash warewolf victim
she's about as cool as a sandpaper handjob.
her eyes looked like someone had poured fruit punch in them. needless to say we had a good time.
sleeping like a two year old who chased ambien with a bottle of whiskey.
Just heard a guy on the phone saying " ya ill buy the eight ball " then came to my register to ask what asile the sugar substitute is on.
The only thing that makes me want to stop the affair is that I am the Monica Lewinksy in this triangle.
Although, to be fair, I am both willing and going to lick marshmallow fluff off of your dick.
After last night, I've decided I will now bang only men who professionally ride things for a living. I will accept jockeys, cowboys, bullriders, and pro bicyclists who lie and say they're bullriders.
Also, I am ligit concerned that I might compulsively start collecting vibrators like Pokemon.
it's a simple rule - pass out shirtless on the couch, become an airsoft target.
I left for five minutes and Chris wound up half in women's clothes, half naked. And the naked half was covered in shamrock stickers.
Stoned, drunk, and walking into the library. Look at me multitasking!
well don't blame me. sometimes vibrators go missing and people get angry. these things happen
I actually feel a twinge of sadness recycling all of our handles... I feel like I'm throwing out some great memories or lack of them because we don't remember
He may not be good for my soul but he’s great for my vagina!
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