he thought i was a dude.
dude skip the party. it is a fucking post office here
what the hell does that mean?
nothing good but a whole lotta male and packages
Im like a co-bf. he pays for her birthday and christmas, but i get all the action.
I miss the good ol' days when we would yell at strangers from your balcony while wearing our mexican ponchos in the middle of the day.
what ever happened to our old dealer?
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I know it basically makes me the worst feminist ever, but I don't want to kill my own spiders. And I will pay my personal spider hit man with sammiches and unlimited , uninhibited access to my vagina.
What should I say back?
Well, how do you want the conversation to go?
Straight into my pants.
You were so drunk you coat checked your shoe... Not even both of them. Just one shoe.
Good news: you're over the drunk crying life phase. Bad news: now you're handy and violent. You were groping me from behind in front of the guy you like, then you put me in a headlock and swept the leg.
I'm finally in my bed, my pants are off, and there's no pee on my carpet this is the best life has been all day
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i agree, on both the sex thing and the unrepentant bastard thing
Kelly and I just had sex, and you didn't call or text to interrupt, are you alive? We are both concerned.
I only know one person in my class and that's my dealer.
It feels appropriate that the wallet of my high school and college years would die at the hands of a spilled bong. Which in and of itself is a solid metaphor for those years.
you could be the only one getting laid right now....yet your sitting in here making goat noises
It went from a "chill game of beer pong" to "absinthe body shots and a tits parade" in literally two minutes.
Told you inviting her was a good idea.
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