I just did the scooter of shame. New levels of embarrassment have now opened.
That should be a holiday. like easter. but bulges instead of baskets
I mean we're not committed. He's my first choice, sort of like miller lite. When I'm at the bar I'm going to order one, but if they don't maybe I'll go for a bud or blue moon. I'm certainly not going to stop drinking
i refuse to live in a world where loud threesomes in your own apartment are referred to as "rude"
did you yell "are you not entertained?"
you were mass sexting so we took your phone away
Did you really end last night's sexting with "Stay thirsty my friend"?
just an fyi, false alarm on the whole ghonnorea thing. you're safe.
I shame-fucked to Hotel California, don't tell me about priorities.
So here's a brief summary of my weekend: last night I drank four glasses of Death Punch, grabbed the toaster, said "This is mine", put it in my pants and walked out the front door.
Do you know how many guys' fantasies I've been told I'm a part of lately?!
Just 2. But still.
He had a vasectomy. I think I'm in love.
His dick is a skeleton key. It fits everywhere.
Let's just say that I took off my pants and I had superman boxers on. Then she took off her pants and she had batman panties on. I think she's the one!
I find nice boys who are in extremely long term relationships with nice girls, wait for them to break up, and sneak in for the rebound fucking.
You are like a terrifying jaguar of sex. Predatory.
It was a crazy night: tears were shed, blood was spewed, and bottles were emptied.
Randomize
