Why do you proceed to call me "Queen La Queefah?"
I just saw a Puerto Rican child between the ages of 8 and 11 with a faint mustache talking very loudly on the bluetooth in his ear about how "Skittles are played the fuck out"
separated laundry into 'got laid' and 'didn't get laid' piles.
She soaked the fruit in vodka for ten minutes and then mixed it with normal fruit and sherbert icecream. It was called "lottery fruit".
He gave me four orgasms and I kept yelling "Thank you!" and he kept replying, "My pleasure!"
Midwestern nice.
I just don't understand how we smoked the EXACT same thing and I feel fine but Tim's over here serenading his fifth bowl of fruit loops with Elton John's entire discography.
He used Kanye West lyrics to justify what happened and I accepted his logic
You're the common denominator of my blackouts.
Not only did my parents pick me up from his hotel room in the morning, but he also came outside and had a casual little chat with my dad through the driver's side windrow.
It probably would have happened but I just can't picture myself losing my virginity while laying on top of his Quiksilver duvet set.
I think I blacked out after I decided drinking alone on the trailered jetskis was a good idea
He's far too busy staring into my soul to touch my tits.
Xanax and full house Tuesday is now Percocet Sunday
My hangover headache is somewhere in the Harry Potter scar neighborhood. I can now empathize with that poor bastard.
he went down on me and a few minutes later he asked to show me a magic trick. then he pulled a quarter out of my vagina
Randomize
