I'm going to save the lime from my McDonald's salad to use in my Corona later tonight.
I woke up with the wrong plaid-shirted guy in my bed.
Meh. I'll learn enough German to ask her for a handjob, then I'm out
You never cease to amaze me.
I really shouldn't have to apologize. It was your own damn fault for opening a tab at the bar and telling me about it.
He found my weave.. Think he'll still fuck me Friday? And how do I ask for it back?
And if it was a miscarriage you should figure out whose it was. He must be an alphamale for his offspring to sustain life this long in the amusement park that is your body
I would call you but I don't feel like these hands belong to me.
Let's just rave with boners that last for hours
I hate him and his pretentious your-sleeping-in-the-wet-spot look.
Even with having the shower running and music on everyone could hear the alcohol gods making me sacrifice my dignity and meals from the past week.
I think the solution to your phobia is an open relationship with your dildo. about the same responsibility as a pet rock
I swear every time I see him he's either dancing or trying to touch people
Pray for me.. I'm like the lonely vagina in a sea of sworming dicks
so does the amount of bruises on my arms and legs mean we had fun last night?
Call me Sherlock Holmes, bitch.
Randomize
