I can no longer count the number of girls I've banged on my fingers and toes. It's like being born again.
you got in your car and made the sounds of a NASCAR, then called me on your phone and I was your pit crew. then you apparently you won the race, and THAT'S when you tried to backflip off the top of your car.
And for 6 straight hours, I laid on my bedroom floor trying to convince myself it would perfectly acceptable to pee on my own floor
ONE NIGHT STAND. You have 27 minutes before the offer expires, so I suggest you hurry.
Emergency! LinkedIn connected me to a hotornot hookup from sophomore year... slutty phase sphere has officially invaded grown up professional sphere. My illusions of interweb sexual anonymity have been exploded.
Dude id rather jerk off w a fist full of bee's than deal with that girl that never stops talking.
Make the kitchen floor stop waving. Im trying to lay on it
I just want to be naked all the time but not in a sexual, come-hither and look at my ass sort of way. In a slightly chubby yet not ashamed way as I eat Taco Bell and lay on soft fuzzy blankets.
She dressed up in a sexy maid outfit for me, but she got mad when I asked her to actually do some cleaning.
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.
and then I drunkenly screamed, "you can ride that Uber all the way to revenge city!"
which was funny until I realized I paid for my enemy's cab to go fuck my ex
Bud... Did you mean to tweet a picture of your dick? If not just letting you know.
Thanks for listening. You're the first guy I've ever worked with who I didn't want to fuck.
he was wearing a pyjama shirt under a dress shirt under a hoodie under a robe under a rain poncho the man was prepared for anything
Blunts beyotch
What? Joints? Blunts?
I'll refer you to my previous text: "Blunts beyotch"
Randomize
