who the fuck tagged pancake nipples on my profile picture?
i wanted to be an indian when i was a child. apparently you cannot grow up to be an indian.
he opened up his "box of magic": a crusty tube of KY jelly, three expired condoms, a fingertip vibrater, and a jar of marshmallow fluff.
I made friends with a raccoon. I pet it. Like I was Pocahontas.
He did the "not my house dance." Apparently it involves spreading cereal on the floor and then grinding into the carpet in bare feet while singing "not my house" over and over and dancing.
Yea it's a sex scar. But if anyone asks I tripped up carpeted stairs
He sent me a Microsoft outlook meeting request to blow him in the storage room at work. I had to accept.
We had sex in the bathroom. Good sex. Toilet breaking sex.
As the bouncer was escorting you out, you yelled "keep your filthy dick beaters off me!"
I managed to get through my meeting without throwing up in someone else's office, so there's that for an accomplishment today.
He has an accent when he types. I can *hear* the schnitzel. Especially when he's drunk.
You are in my phone as "Thigh Gap" and you apparently work for "DO NOT DRUNK TEXT, INC." That is why I called you six times last night. So unless you take a second job at "NO DRUNK DIALING LLC" expect more. PS I am sober so this is legit.
He fingered me to the beat of the Fresh Prince theme song... it was pretty fantastic.
So when did "Are you okay?" translate into "Don't tell me you got fucked by another rando after another rager"?
Fuuuuuck dude, he’s got #Excel in his Facebook bio; I’m screaming
Randomize
