there's paper in my vomit.
im like that movie w. ryan reynolds, no ones ever going to date me unless they're forced to marry me.
he asked me if i had ever jacked off high and then referred to it as a "man-to-man question"
it's all just a bunch of faces and i remember what the floor looked like.
I came home to the cats covered in paint and he was asleep in the tub with a firefighters hat on.
My mom made me write an apology letter to all my family for hijacking the eggnog.
I honestly don't know if ill make it through the next two hours. The hangover is strong with this one.
Revised rule: don't put your dick in the general vacinity of mental instability.
Not even dry humping. Not even a little bit.
YOU'RE CHANGING THE SUBJECT. I CAN BLOW SOMETHING UP OR I CAN TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM, BUT ONE OF THE TWO IS BOUND TO HAPPEN
I mean, who doesn't have an ex involved with bath salts?
Your birthday is now over. Your day in the spotlight has dimmed and now you're as special as everyone else. The world goes back to revolving around me. Good night.
He can't just hit it and quit it and then eat your pop tarts on his way out.
WE HAD GREAT SEX AND I HATE MYSELF FOR IT
I just told 2 of my vibrators "I love you." I seriously need some dick.
Fuck you, i'm all jacked up on bananas lets go somewhere
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