I have a story that starts with Nutella and ends with sex in the laundry building at RIT.
I just woke up under a kitchen table with my sandals taped to my feet and a corona bottle taped to my hand..
If penises could fly, my ass would totally be an airport.
good news. according to wikipedia, my blackout might just have been "post-trauma amnesia"
That's fun. I just masturbated and I swear my vagina creaked.
That reminds me of that one time you handcuffed me to a table leg while I was reaching for the vodka.
I'll have my hookups make my March Madness picks. Win my bracket, win my heart. That's how it works right?
please come upstairs a drunk asian is lying down n the middle of my room and i don't know him
It's a "nonproductive" (vocab word) cough. It's like a constant tickle in my throat, like there's a little elf with feathers for feet going Gangnam style on my "uvula" (vocab word).
My whole family just stopped to look at me and aknowledge how fucked up I am.
Why are your underwear on my dining room table?
Our first crop came in on the day that they added Hercules to Netflix Instant, I think it's the universe telling us that it approves of us growing shrooms in our guest room.
He got hit with a horseshoe, set on fire, fell out of a tree, and puked all over the side of his car, all before midnight. Everclear.
Your roommates will be treating you to many anecdotes about my intentions to have aggressive sex with you. I'm sorry in advance.
I forget how to act sober
Randomize
