The good thing about walking home in a dress on sunday morning is that people mistake my walk of shame as a walk to God.
My t9 writes chubies instead of bitches.
either way. win, win.
I want Jason Statham to talk British to my vagina.
I'm at the house listening to vengaboys alone. Please come home.
I love wearing low cut shirts cuz then when class gets boring, I can look down and admire my breasts.
I feel as though I could trust her, I mean she did tell me she was married before we had sex.
I just realized. my grades aren't ready for st patties day...
Just a heads up, the coffee pot is filled with Jager.
the condom is still stuck, that's what I get for being responsible
I'm thinking blowjobs and wheelchair sex should be part of any post-injury wellness plan.
Get your clothes on you are our DD for the night. The usual three way payment
She yanked on my limp dick and I yelped, to which she slurred something about starting it like a lawn mower
And now I'm taking a break sitting on the bathroom floor thanking god that people who eat at subway are either too classy to piss on the floor, or are still relatively sober enough to not piss on the floor before 5pm.
But Keith is doing MDMA for New Years and he's 39.
Keith has a beautiful 20 year old girlfriend, a good job and a cute puppy. We can't all be Keith.
But I want to be Keith.
Would it be weird if i sent him a "happy fuckiversary" text?
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