Call me at 7:30 and make sure I'm not asleep in this booth at Waffle House.
he borrowed my computer and saw his name in my recent google searches. Things got awkward real fast.
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 envy the lives of milf's kids, the little kid grabs her tits and she just laughs and says not now
I'm never waking up next to someone after sex again. It's alllll downhill from there.
I shit myself. Legit. And I burnt my tongue. Unrelated incidents, but related in the sense of general discomfort.
Whiskey and an unstable home life is apparently the fountain that 20-something boys like to drink from.
"just because you look like a short version of scarlet johanson does not mean I would immediately fuck you" that was the single.most difficult thing to say. but seriously I don't want the roots of the whore tree anywhere near my junk.
And then he serenaded me with "Pimps don't cry" from 'The Other Guys'. If that's not love I'm not sure what is
YOUR TITS WERE ON THE TABLE.
Then I'll go home and you two can do whatever two same sex heterosexual soul mates do
I was going down on her and she started whistling "Whistle while you work." I'm in love.
You tried to order fondue take-out.
From Taco Bell.
90% sure I just opened a snapchat of you in a fuzzy bathrobe next to your ceiling collapsing
IM FILLED WITH SANDWICHES AND SELF LOATHING
Randomize
