Im beginning to think that if I ever write an autobiography it will have to be mostly fill in the blank.
his profile picture is him throwing up "#1" hands after his lax championship next to his coach that i fucked....embarrasing for him, yet ironically beautiful for me.
And at least you didn't have a dinner of Ranch Pringles and Double Stuff Oreos. I forgot that part of being single.
It's that "make a Pringle and Twinkie sandwich" kind of depression.
Well. It was around 3 or 4 in the morning. He ran into the woods. Wearing moccasins. Holding an extension cord. He was trying to catch a deer. That about sums up the awesomeness of the night.
that's all we do, eat and hve sex, eat and have sex. he thinks it's bad and that we need to talk more or whatever but I'm just not seeing the problem...
I dreamt of sea otters and your boobs. My two favorite things.
I'm sorry I came to your house drunk and fed pizza to your dog.
if i ever wake up in the morning and don't feel a boner in my asscrack then this relationship is over
all we have is white fucking wine this is a travesty it's christmas not a fucking funeral
Reasons why I'm always right: I am older, I am wiser, I have a larger penis
We can't shop at Hobby Lobby anymore. They don't like Plan B which basically runs through our veins.
This is the perfect outfit to do ketamine in, I must say
I'm pretty sure the Bible says "He who is most sober may cast the first stone."
I'll tell you all about it in person but let's just say the big dick fairy must really like me right now
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