He called me "the Joe Montana of blowies." Not sure if that is an accomplishment or an insult, but going off of the amount of condensation on the windows of my car, I'm gonna just do a little touchdown dance and pass out.
My little brother got home at 4am too, we drunk ate together. It was a kodak moment.
She's the barista slut.
She kept sniffing my sweater and tried to guess what type of detergent I use.
I find it worrying that she bit me in bed. Then proceeded to write her name in bite marks. All without ever losing the rhythm of our fucking.
He called me on my way to the bathroom and told me he wanted to hear me pee my beers out... That. Drunk.
Good. We don't answer calls at dick thirty.
He's tweaking out . If he's on fucking bathsalts and eats my face like a chalupa pull the plug. I don't want to live with no fucking face. Pull. The. Plug.
Haha I haven't even had my interview yet and I'm already trying to fuck my way to the top. 'Merica.
Figured out why that fly won't leave. It keeps buzzing through my weed smoke
Fly high, Fly.
Getting drunk in an Applebee's pray for me
Lord god protect this child
Cleaning naked can be dangerous. Vacuum cord got stuck on my belly button ring...
There's not really an emoticon that says "I'm sorry I honked your boobs, and that you weren't a fan of that."
Just had to stop myself from doing a bump on the Disney bus. The struggle is real.
...I just melted into my bed. I am one with the bed. I am 600 thread count.
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