The sex was great until she started shouting, "Succeed!, Succeed!" Then it was like I was fucking a motivational speaker. Awkward.
And as you crawled into the bathroom last night you repeatedly said "I know the routine".
I'm sorry I kept calling last night when you wouldn't pick up. I'm REALLY sorry I sang "You Oughta Know" on more than 4 voice mails.
Homegirl just dropped a candle on the floor major party foul. Thought it make you feel better.
I'm not trying to alarm you guys, but I think I just swallowed a ketchup packet.
I asked if I could borrow some condoms. She referred to herself as "a soup kitchen for whores".
And then I cried about the Cubs for a half hour. If my dignity hadn't already been lost by that point in the night, it sure as hell was then.
Just opened up the freezer to find chocolate penis popsicles. Too hungover for this shit
That was so not worth putting pants on for.
Moral of the story: next time my plans include you and bourbon, I'm packing a toothbrush.
Congrats on dating a convict, there's no fitbit badge for that one.
I think all the guys I've fucked in my life would get along perfectly. They'd probably form an orchestra and travel the fucking world. That gives me the slightest feeling of consistency in life which is great.
Are you seriously getting this frustrated over a hand-job right now?
Roommate charged out of his room in pajamas yelling "MAKE IT RAIN" and just threw $4,000 in fifties onto my head. My Friday night.
Just walked outside my house; realized I wasn't wearing any pants after about 3 minutes or so.
Drunk, high, hungover?
...I wish I had an excuse.
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