To answer your question of whether I "went back," tits just informed me I was kicked out for falling off my barstool and passing out on the floor...
god, you should never be in the FBI. you'd give away america's secrets to any boy who asked.
we should become lesbians. not together. just in general.
never thought i'd see a ''climb of shame'' until she came down from the attic in front of the whole party..
i crunched every chip from the dorito bag and poured it in the vase. never again will i have to deal with cool ranch fingers.
omg. if hes just gonna get mad everytime i have sex with one of his "friends" then it was never gonna work out
she puked as i came inside her. that has to mean something.
It's the only time I've ever felt manly shitting myself
don't get you morals all over my torrid fantasties
4:37 am. You're wearing underwear and carpet skates. Borderline crying. You want to punch Morgan. Have not stopped singing Give Your Heart a Break.
I am on my usual post-jerkoff high of eternal happiness. Like I could punch a fucking tiger.
At the very least, I mastered a nap while occasionally being dry humped.
One of my favorite March activities is cropdusting people while wearing a kilt.
I just want a guy who makes lots of money, has a skilled penis and the sex drive of a 22 year on Viagra. Is that too much to ask?
You know that we wouldn’t even be talking about all this if you would have kept your candy consumption judgement comments to yourself.
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