So I'm at the Chevron by your house. I need a condom and a couch.
Together?
Preferably.
morning outfit: hottub soaked skirt. no underwear. someone's bandanna worn as a shirt. took me an hour to walk home. this isn't fun anymore.
The girl sitting next to me in class is writing her to-do list under the title 11/31.
Now that Steinbrenner is in heaven he's going to make Jesus cut his hair
In the memo line of the check she wrote sexual healing.
im shotgunning beers in the kitchen. alone. the cat is judging me.
I will give you all my nachos to make this happen
I knew from the second he called his penis glorious that I was meant to sleep with him
4:37 am. You're wearing underwear and carpet skates. Borderline crying. You want to punch Morgan. Have not stopped singing Give Your Heart a Break.
We have started to decorate penises.
And in that, my finest lazy stoner moment, I used my cleavage to hold my bowl steady while I packed it laying down in bed.
Nothing wrong with a few meaningless hookups. Keeps the mind occupied and the body satisfied
I think the biggest problem with being overhigh is when the kitchen was on fire and I was pointing and laughing and eating rootbeer oreos like it was fucking Ozzfest 2000
I want to be a supportive friend to her, but I also want to sleep with her ex now that he's single.
I just smoked weed out of a tomahawk, then chased an armadillo with said tomahawk, I love my life.
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