I want to stick my p in your. b.
quit re-tweeting John McCain's tweets
Definitely locked eyes with the stripper who gave me a lapdance last night as she walked by me and into the Ann Taylor Loft in Times Square.
O.A.R does not stand for Old Recycled Abortions.
smell my finger.
the fact that he forgave me for making out with the bartender is proof that i can fuck my way out of anything.
I think I'm getting too used to throwing up in the reception trash can. It doesn't even phase me anymore
kool aid jammers and 151...our childhood has officially been corrupted.
BTW my friend remembers her as "the one with the pronounced chin"
I began mixing captain Morgan and jack daniels and called it captain jack sparrow. I puked. a lot.
I don't think that calm, have their shit together people actually exist.
I've had more lap dances than hrs of sleep since Thursday, this is why you're planning all three of my bachelor parties
I AM STRANGELY AROUSED BY THIS UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT AND I AM COMPLETELY OK WITH THIS.
I'm both gender and math confused
i just want a beer and a blow job. is that so much to ask?
and i just want a ring so i can stop faking it. is that?
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