every time i drive by the road she lives on, i scream in the car "i'm sorry i'm sleeping with your boyfriend!" makes me feel less whore-y.
no, he's only a walking dick if he mans up. right about now he's just a walking transgender.
he looked about as manly as a guy in a volkswagen bug can look
you were watching a documentary about sharks and wouldn't stop stroking my legs and whispering "what if they could walk?"
sudden memory flashback: you and i having sex on the bed, erin sitting naked in your desk chair drinking whiskey straight from the bottle while harassing you for your computer password to play some "mood music." high five. go us.
making an indian outfit so we can be pochohantas and john smith and fuck in the canoe on the night float
I guess birthday shots aren't always the answer
You had salsa out and brought a banana on a plate to bed
It's great when the cashier at the liquor store asks "weren't you wearing those clothes yesterday"
Bone him for me, BONE HIM TWICE FOR ME.
Would it be weird if your parents sold me weed?
And amler is totally snoring loud as fuck sitting on the steps with her feet in a puddle of soda puke
Am I required to send a Christmas card to my fuck buddy?
You know you've made it in life when the people in the next stall are cheering on your orgasm
I couldn't figure out what was more important, finishing the shot or putting out the fire on my leg.
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