I want the hot one, scratch that. anyone.
a guy in a toll booth on I-90 told me to fuck off for not being a red sox fan. i am going to miss massachusetts very much.
WHOA. WHOA. WTF. WHOA. TOO HIGH FOR HIM TO BE ENGAGED RIGHT NOW.
While he was going down his phone rang and he answered saying I'll call you later I'm eating.
This is a whole other level of drinking. Like the I used to eat paste with these people kinda drinking.
You need to stop blackout tweeting at him to have sex with you on the roof of your dorm. He doesn't even have a twitter.
I just want to let it be known that I almost put my phone in the fridge.
I feel like I'm laying on a pillow cloud. With little baby angel fingers between me and the cloud lifting me up. Singing hymns in my ear.
Who knew there were so many rules and judgements about laying on a kitchen floor. I'm all like I'm resting. It just happens to be on a kitchen floor.
Dude you filled up a protein shake mixer with White Russians so you didn't have to keep coming upstairs.
It's not that I even wanna fuck these guys anymore, just cuddle that's all. My conscience has never been so proud.
I still regret not being there for your blackout into the dumpster last year
we fucked in the backseat of my car at the observatory, right under the stars. it was a starry, orgasmic filled night
i'll explain later but cookie monster is playing the xylophone
There is a huge naked guy in the kitchen with the boner of a lifetime and what I believe is an assault rifle casually resting on his shoulder.
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