you sent me 5 happy birthday texts last night. one after the other. spelled differently.
So guy #2, the dancer, is programmed into my phone under the name H.uy. His number- 11 digits. I should have stopped drinking.
He only uses me for sexual pleasure. The sad part is I don't even feel like a slut. I just I feel like I should just live in the top drawer of his nightstand....for free of course.
At one point during the moaning he reminded me of Forrest Gump
Yeah. We was talkin. Its ok. My bed is too filled with pam for sex. Its like a slip and slide of butter product.
...and the foreplay consisted of me threatening to cut off his hand if he didn't remove it from my back.
Petting the cat and listening to "you've got a friend". This is why I smoke weed. To make sense of situations like this.
I'm eating a piece of cake like an apple. At least my thought process is healthy.
While I'm on hiatus from the Russian potato nectar, it is my wish for others to enjoy it in my stead.
We were tripping too hard to figure out to tell him where we were so we sent a picture of me laying outside the tent saying "find us"
Let's be honest I'm gonna watch murder she wrote and eat taquitos at three am
Sexual favors are the only currency recognized by the Republic of Greg
He tried to buy me a drink at dollar beer night. All 3 of his credit cards were declined, so he asked me if I could cover it. Needless to say, I'm not calling him back.
What kind of paramedic is he, some dude is dying back there and he's trying to get laid
I'm seriously considering starting a savings account so I'll have bail money this summer.
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