The plan is to make enough mistakes this weekend to hold me over until spring break
I know you're trying to keep the moaning to a minimum but the banging on the wall is totally giving you away
I wish someone would just come knock on my door and fuck me already so that me and my stuffed animals aren't the only ones who see my amazing spring break tan. I'm not getting skin cancer so I can just sit here abstinent.
I wasn't that drunk, I know my limits. When peeing became difficult I stopped taking shots.
I was super naked---except I kept my shoes on, because I'm a lady, and I was bent over a bar.
Whenever I'm not in the mood and don't want to go to bed swampy, I just strategically suck him off during the second period intermission of the Cup playoffs and he leaves me alone and does the dishes. It's a win-win.
I think pretend fucking a camel is a good thing to do downtown. They loved me.
I feel violated by Miley Cirrus's performance in the VMA's.
He asked me if I wanted to blow his whistle and proceeded to pull out an actual whistle.
Dude you better come get your girl, she's sitting here eating a tub of pasta salad muttering to herself about gypsies.
At least they play good movies in the waiting room of the pregnancy resource center.
I think you're my feminist conscience sometimes.
the only things my left hand does: catch/hold things and masturbation.
And you know what the worst part is? Because of him I can now relate to a goddamn Taylor Swift song. FUCK. MY. LIFE.
You got drunk, made toast, and declared yourself a domestic goddess.
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