Let's just say there is a bloody hand print above my bed and it's not mine. Literally.
I'm waiting for seagulls to eat this throw up
I am choosing my outfit based on how fast I can get it off. Please help.
It's like that depressing moment when you drop your cocaine in the snow.
He sent me $300 worth of sex toys. My clitoris went into hiding after two days.
I don't even want to think about the kind of person who would shit in the street before 10pm on a Sunday.
I won't be able to make it. Too hung over. Can't hold down fluids. I'm in the bathtub trying to hydrate my body through osmosis. And yes, Tequila Tuesday is totally still on for tonight.
I've watched enough of my roommate's imported Japanese satellite to know when the exchange students are calling me a whore.
So for future reference.... it's a little unnerving when I can't get hold of you, and the last communication we had was, "Oh fuck... It's tequila"
She wanted me to watch her masterbate and after she thanked me for a wonderful evening and left. This state is weird.
Would it be inappropriate to rub one out in the gym shower? I mean, technically, I pay $80 a month to do what I want so could they really say anything?
Shower is fine. Steam room is shady. I've probably done both at one point in my life so I can't be used as a good reference.
Come now. I'm bloody but I'll give you the best fuck of your life.
If I can ever get control of my legs I will be home. Thanks... and again sorry about your bed.
We're doing a team debriefing of Saturday night in group text right now. As 75% of the female presence at that party we saw some shit.
So... I sharted on the plane. It was hard to maintain my composure and acted offended at the same time. I hate you for not cutting me off last night.
Randomize
