Sorry if I ruined your sex last night with my constant text updates about the plot of Bolt.
Packed at 6 am completely wasted. Damage assessment: 12 pairs of socks (no underwear), a flashlight, 3 shorts, shot glass, 8 sweaters, puff paint, one sneaker.
He passed out while I was riding him, and just when I was about to call it quits he opens his eyes and squeezes my boobs and goes Honk! Honk!
never underestimate the power of walking into a bar alone in uv cat makeup.. took home a seven foot man
It's my 3rd annual 21st birthday party. Disney themed. There will be blood.
It's ok. I will share any beautiful men that I drug and leave unconscious on my bed. I'm that kind of friend.
Finally another gay clarinet player. They're surprisingly rare.
Does the room smell any better?
Yeah, i sprayed perfume. It smells like Victoria's Secret, if Victoria's secret was that she was homeless.
I went by my nickname in rehab. It made it feel more like summer camp.
God it's like my stomach is full of drunk bees
I don't think I've ever met a guy with a bush bad enough that I would choose a cactus over it.
I'm honored that you could tear yourself away from your girlfriend's vagina long enough to text me.
So it's official the pockets of my work apron exist solely for the purpose of secretly flipping off asshole customers and not losing my job.
Anyway, all that to say that tiny penises are a hassle.
What the hell kind of sad excuse for a bottom are you
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