I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
Kinda wish I banged him. I need the exercise.
I mean I gotta puke to be skinny, wax to be hairless, and drink to be fun. Life isn't easy.
The trip involved octopus tentacles coming from the little holes in my TV's speakers. The beauty of the nonexistant symbolism had me in tears.
You took a bar mat shot.
They poured beer (3 cans) down the toilet so bubbles can be drunk in fishy heaven
Until she magically finds a brain, I'm going to be a dick. Fair trade. She's a idiot, I'm an ass.
I just told him he had gained a new brother. He immediately knew I meant the eskimo kind.
There was no eligible dick at the ER. I'm pissed. Looks like "Searching for Strange at the Local Free Clinic" is a no go for the name of our first full length album. On the other hand, I got a dilaudid shot and I no longer feel like I have the worst bladder infection of my life.
It's a gay bachelor party, it's not like dignity is to be expected
I don't think you should be sorry for such memorable sex that I yell your name when you aren't around.
he told me "apparently my gag reflex doesn't work so if you magically grew a penis I would deep throat you"
So I paid Bumble $10 to see who liked my profile for a month. Cheap, easy dick. It's all about the economics, yo.
Say whatever the fuck you want about me, but leave my deceased cat out of it.
i feel like every weekend turns into a giant blur of i dont want to know...
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