Some random slut told me I was a good dancer then gave me a handjob. I felt like fucking John Travolta.
The bathroom is trashed. Someone took down all the rings of the shower curtain and Scott threw up on the curtain liner. All the soap and shampoo is in the guest bedroom and the lightbulbs are in a drawer. And there are vom footprints.
I'm just going to say , cocktail races are not for a Wednesday night maybe not even a Friday type of deal
No you usually just ranted about the voicemail bitch until she cut you off again
You don't seem to appreciate the rareness of his junk.
Send me a picture. I'm more of a visual learner.
I think you are the only one slutty enough and evil enough for the job. Just go in and blue ball him. He broke my nose in Middle school. He deserves this.
Pounding your chest saying "me Tarzan" is not flirting or even talking
the new numbers in my phone would beg to differ
I'm going to be fiscally responsible and buy a handle.
i don't knpow whats goin on i think theyre sacrificeing me to th tequila gods
I put a zucchini in my pussy for you
I just cut open the plastic package of a Plan B pill using the bottle opener I carry in my purse. #whyidrink
but seriously, if you see a redhead running down the street tonight in a carrot costume, call 911. He's tripping hard.
I'm sorry I lead life with my vagina.
Maybe if I ever do become a counselor, I would just implement a kind of intensive meme therapy.
I wanted to write an apology letter to my vagina after that.
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