I smell stomach acid.
We have sex, then he cooks. It's like a fantasy.
Also I'd like you to set a calendar reminder that goes off every day for you to take 2 minutes to think about what your life would be like without me.
I puked on myself in front of a customer. all. over. myself. thanks Saturday nights
My night ended with Em alternately crying and throwing up in the arms of a guy wearing a cutoff and a tiara. I sat holding a garbage can and wine glass full of water wondering how our night got to this point.
The girl that works the front desk at my gym invited me and my friend to come see her Tuesday during her shift at hooters because its her birthday. I still have a boner
Winner winner, chicken dinner. I am the sole survivor of the orgy without strep. Or maybe I was the carrier?
I gave him shit for taking my sloppy seconds and when I woke up my eyebrow was gone
By 11 pm the pants were off and there was no turning back. But on the bright side, you promised me your CDs when you died, you even signed a napkin saying so.
Eating a TV dinner and watching Goosebumps on Netflix, the sad, sad title of my autobiography.
I'm taking a dab in mourning of how long its been since I smoked with you guys.
You came out of your room naked under your open robe with a mouth full of brownie on a stick and grabbed a fistful of fruit loops and shoved them into your already full mouth.
Like I owe him sex. Hell fucking no. I owe myself sex. With a celebrity. Or a clean pornstar. Who knows.
Did I try to sell your body for chicken tenders last night?
all my friends are getting married and here i am in a committed relationship with rum
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