It's a sad day when you have to slightly move your fupa to shave.
I look like a poor person in the cast of Gay Oliver.
I wanted to dispute a few 411 charges on my phone bill. The service rep told me I called them four times asking for Lady Gaga's number.
I was trying to sing daddy wasnt there from austin powers but apparently I was crying and and yelling jibberish...I get to into this shit
I know it I should, but it's kinda nice. It's smells like unbridled enthusiasm and copious amounts of melt your face off sex.
Day 1 of "Death of a Liver" weekend complete. It came with flashbacks of horrible mistakes I made due to alcohol. I'm excited for how Sunday is going to turn out.
I'm hungover from arbor mist I'm so white
I'm 50% okay with that amount of body contact... plus/minus 7% based on where blood may flow.
Moral of the story: I had sex to Back to the Future last night.
Have you ever hotboxed under your comforter? Best. Decision. Ever.
He was super adorable, like I wanna pinch his cheeks while I fuck him...
He's perfect in every other way. Is buying him a cockring too forward or just honest?
It involves me, my best friend, and a stripper and her mother.
It's not a hangover, it's "slept on a couch with another person and said person moves a lot and is loud"
He's a downgrade and it was quick. But it was dick nonetheless.
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