So im pretty sure the object of my emotional onterest is tired of playing with me....
Call me immediately, my only recent boy news involves me biting a dick.
First date. He's wearing a tuxedo shirt and keeps asking me about our future children. Escape plan #3 is now in action...
we weren't quite sure what was on that mirror, so we snorted it and hoped for the best
I can't be held responsible for my own vagina. Let's just be honest here.
Going to the hospital for stitches on my balls. Mom walked in on me manscaping with an electric razor. Tell NOBODY.
I decided that Calgary can keep my underwear. They earned it.
There are pre-booty call contracts for a reason. I have no intention of calling you tomorrow.
Do you need my fax number or something?
I think the fact that I shit my pants, threw away my underwear in a frat bathroom, lost my socks down a drain in the front yard and still got laid... deserves some sort of a victory drink for myself or a blowjob for him since he was such a good sport.
I. Did. In fact. Sprain. My liver. This. Weekend.
There's something very strange about masturbating in a hotel room. I feel like I'm cheating on my room...
I would love a rich wife. Then I would be like a gym teacher or some shit. Bigfoot hunter maybe.
You rode your bike four miles to my house. Yelled "I'm so high!" Then crashed into his car. It's a problem.
I told her to not worry about it. Lone Star is an excellent first trimester beer.
Is it weird that sometimes I like to have sex for the health benefits and workout more than the pleasure
Randomize
