i told my grandma i broke up with my boyfriend. her reply " you need to play the field more anyway"
he kept farting in my kitchen and blaming it on the dog. then we went to wendy's and he spent twenty minutes in the bathroom. im pretty sure he shit his pants.
you should have known when you found out he drove a mini cooper not to hang out with him.
he fingered my asshole thinking it was my vag...I couldn't bring myself to tell him, mostly from shame for me and pity for him
I woke up because I was nodding to the dream question of "would you like a sombrero?"
He said something pertaining to Ragu and vodka I'm worried
She may be a slut, but at least she's a dedicated slut. She's always super tan and has her shit shaved in really cool designs.
Think of it this way, instead of a puppy, we're getting a baby.
When people ask about my bruises, I'm just going to say it was a doorknob. Or possibly a group of doorknobs. Angry doorknobs.
It was the best of bangs; it was the worst of bangs.
he told me he could still feel the blowjob i gave him last year
wow. THAT good huh
I just want to braid flowers into his hair and steal all of his pills.
I SWEAR TO GOD IF SHE FUCKS WITH OUR GOLD GENE POOL
I'm not complaining, but why is it that every time I hang out with you I come home with random injuries and random girls?
there must be tiny pirates in the freezer stealing our rum.
i want to say his dick was in it but not his heart
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