i dont remember who you are as you are in my phone as "mr. peanut."
I caught myself masturbating while watching a baseball game today. It was over before I realized what was going on. And then I was just confused.
he told me it was because of the roids, but i couldn't tell if he meant ster or hem.
Two kids are drinking pounders in class. I think I'm hanging out with the wrong group of friends.
I just rubbed my dick on something in your apartment. Can you guess what?
My last memory involves me naked in a mens's bathroom stall. I really hope my date was with me.
Not enough clothes on. Not enough vagina. Not enough drugs in my body.
I don't care how many kiddie pools are in our house. One is too many.
Bren left me with a lovely parting gift. Newfouund alcoholism. I'm on the kitchen floor, hugging a bottle of vodka. It's my only friend now.
I mean, yeah, she was cheating on me but I've been fucking her brother. My secret relationship trumps her secret relationship.
Itll be like a collage of penis. And not that abstract, one penis in a big painting contemporary shit. Collage....
More cowboy butts than you can shake a stick at, oh joy.
We've given up. My vagina is tired of constant lonely nights and disappointments. This is our retirement.
I've now fucked in every motel room in this small town.
i love how you, my friend, sends me a picture of herself wearing a shirt that says "i am dead inside" and i'm just like "awww baby you're so cute"
that's just solidarity
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