All I remember from last night is puking up a box of cheeze-its and the building catching on fire.
It's all fun and games until the last slice of pizza gets bong water spilled on it.
He's been dead since March and more people write on his wall than mine.
we didnt even make it to the club...the two of us were sharing a plastc bag in the taxi puking into it.
He waited until after foreplay to tell me that he didn't have a condom and "we" would just have to settle for a bj tonight...
He wants a "vagina fling" before he commits to dick for life. I'm gonna allow it.
I think we should bring back the casual nipple tassel
I asked him how his night was and he sent me a picture of a bottle of Ciroc with a bendy straw...
Your ankle brace is here and the saw is charged. Grab some vodka that cast is coming off tonight.
Idk. I was speaking metaphorically. Go for it. As one of your bad decisions, I feel confident in saying you've done worse.
I sent him a tit pic on accident and he replied with "nice ass"
it went well until I said "me" instead of "my" and he kept sexting me in character as a pirate
He texted "fuck you" before blocking me on all social media. Come to think of it, that's also the last thing my mother said to me. Could it be that I'm the problem?
That isn't the worst part. It got a bazillion times more awkward when he read me a poem he wrote about his dead cat.
The last thing I remember is trying to chug the rest of the everclear, running through a fence, and laying down in the snow. I hurt.
Randomize