I just came to the conclusion that the most depressing part of my day is when I have to put clothes on.
ugh, today is just one of those 'get high before your 8am class' days.
I go to guys houses late at night, have a little fun, come back by dawn having made their life a little bit better. I am the official blow job fairy.
She stopped mid-blowjob to introduce herself to us
Lost gin update. Blackout me found and re-hid the bottle. Left a note to myself saying, "GOOD LUCK, SUCKER!"
had my ear almost bitten off in foreplay. the sex gods do not like me.
He probably smells like baby powder and sexual identity crisis.
His IQ is so high, I swear I started ovulating when he told me the number.
It's not really that big. Girls just think it feels big. It's a cocktical illusion.
The cops walked in and cracked up bec he was passed out on the couch in a pink tutu.
Girl, that was the lost night of 2012 for me and I have buried that night deep deep away..
show concern. Mark ate a butterfly and proceeded to drink more shots like nothing happened
My body is like , remember when you wouldn't let me puke last night? Good luck at work fucker.
I definitely don't have enough experience with hookers to be in this group text anymore.
so is it socially acceptable to send her an "i got my man back you whore" card?
Randomize
