I'm not working tomorrow. need to take advantage of the last opportunity for weeks of morning sex.
She's not depressed. She's just sober. It's like the same thing.
Margaritas ran out of lime juice. Substituted Jaeger. Jaegerita not good.
he just spelled fiance, "pheancie". I dont think he's ready to get married.
Why do you keep getting laid in MY dreams
the point of no return was when you "drugged" his drink with glitter. face-planting on his dick was beyond.
did you find a tooth?
did you lose one?
I just reached for my seatbelt when I sat down to pee... Might be a little hungover.
I think we r still a few steps from ex sex. In fact, that's never going to happen. I'm just saying on the seething-chemical-fire-of-emotional-distress-to-post -relationship-intercourse scale, I'm closer to fucking than throttling. Progress is fun.
I just plagiarized Dr. Curtis Connor's ideology from Spider-man in an essay on genetically engineered embryos. College: academic integrity at its finest.
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.
I don't think anything is more terrifying than the thought that you might shit your pants in front of your boss
It was a glorious ass. He has amazing hands. I want to fuck him until he can't do math anymore.
I'm like a bad decision making factory. I need to sit down and have a chat with my decision making elves.
Anyone who does not know who Paul McCartney is does NOT get to put hands in my pants
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