I'm half single.
Please tell me it's the bottom half.
Did you put 9lbs of birdseed all over my car?
You weighed it?
Did I get blown in the bathroom? Yes. Did she throw up cranberry juice on my shorts? Yes. Did she finish the job? Yes.
His dick was as big as my arm. Giving him a handjob was like giving someone an Indian sunburn.
He kept spanking me and talking about biomedical science.
Aw, you fucked a pre-med? you're moving up in the world!
you fucked my boyfriend. margarita girls night will not fix this.
I'm starting to blur the boundary between reasonable senioritis and self-destruction. Somewhat-openly hittin the flask in 11am class
I am trapped in a bar with french tattooed drug dealers who also blow glass art. Just in case this is bad, know what happened.
Apparently I walked up to him, mumbled something incoherently, then started to make out with him. Why does this always happen.
If I ever write a book, i'm calling it "why do i work with fucktards?"
It'll be a good sequel to my other book, "why do i sleep with fucktards?"
I'm not surprised. You have the libido of an Italian soccer team.
It's all coming back to me. I drank moonshine from a milk carton from a guy named tomohawk last night.
No sex in the champagne room. The champagne room being my life
So is it weird that I am super excited for my new captain america clit ring... Or is my crotch getting too patriotic
I actually talked to his parents last night about it. haha. I had a bottle of smirnoff in my hand, I'm sure they took me serious.
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