Yours is on the dinner table...mine is in my underwear drawer.
They left shortly after you claimed the dirty rug as your mattress and began alternating between singing "Dayman" and "Nightman"
its 10 pm and i am cleaning vomit off the ceiling. i am nowhere near drunk enough for this to be funny.
The bartender just started bringing me gin and tonic in a pint glass to save himself trips...
Woke up to the first three complete chapters of my new novel titled "If My Dick Could Talk" waiting for me on my laptop
We left the house and she said "let's go dick hunting" theres no way last night was gonna end up well
The last good decent convo we has was when I was trying to convince you to let me watch you pee.
About six hours after the bottle of smirnoff, I was googling "losing your stomach lining" and calling my mom for help. She has experience.
My hanfda are one with the u niverse and I am cirretnly inhaling a couch
I wish they made people sized litter boxes.
We made a bet that we had to talk like Yoda all night at the bars
Update... last night a man tried to bite my ear. I think he swallowed my pearl earring.
I ran into the kitchen halfway through hooking up cause I forgot I put the cookies on the oven too high. Came back and she was gone but the only thing I could think about was all the extra cookies I could eat now. Got through about 6 before I realized why she left.
Would it be weird if I bought knee pads and shin guards to fuck in my car?
Would you paint my ceiling for oral sex?
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