Just looked at my call log. I called Planned Parenthood at 3am.
I cut my penus on the lid.
she read insantiy as in-nast-tit-ty and asked what the hell does that mean...
standing in the yard with no pants on waiting for google maps to come and take a picture.
I need a good reason NOT to eat this entire jar of nutella right now
2pm: Breaking news alert: I think I'm finally sober. Oh, and that place needs hotter strippers.
I feel a bullet train of disappointment headed in your direction.
Seriously, come get him. He's not even a person anymore. He's a loud, drunk, cock-blocking wrecking ball.
I've blown him while he hit my bong, I've blown him while he played video games and now I'm looking for a new challenge. Don't even try suggesting a blumpkin.
All I want is to send a text that says "i slept with someone while wearing nothing but purple argyle socks this weekend." But the only person i would send that to is you. But you already know. Because they were your socks.
It must suffice lest there secretly exist a picture of me walking out of the ocean at midnight naked and half mast with a sea urchin on my ass
He's sending me pics of Yellowstone scenery...the only thing I can think is "I would have sex next to that waterfall"
Omg my butt feels so much better. Those suppositories are magic. It feels like Jesus fingered me in my sleep.
I dunno that I'd be trusting enough of junkyard tequila to drink it.
YOU FUCKED THE DARE INSTRUCTOR DIDN'T YOU?
Randomize
