There are traffic cones in the living room. One of them is yours.
can't come out tonight. went to the bar again last night and the bartender hugged and thanked me so much for my "generosity." I'm intrigued but terrified to see my credit card bill.
They should make a Rosetta Stone that allows men to understand what the fuck women are actually trying to say.
The professor just announced to the class that I talked to him in the bar on my birthday.
Before attempting to fly away into the night you asked me to take care of your sister. I agreed.
He asked if I wanted to "hang out"
A verb which here means "do lines off my dick"
ugh i can't even wear this perfume anymore. it just brings back blurry memories of blowjobs and regret.
I can't wait for the 4th. I'll probably get drunk and end up puking all over whichever 18 year old I end up making out with.
I woke up on the ground next to a bed of naked men. I'm either a drunken genius or the enemy....
I've woke up in his bed 4 out of the past 6 mornings. I feel like this might be the time to learn more about him then his first name and what kind of beer he drinks.
It was a taxi full of fist pumps and chanting to "face down, ass up". It was that 1% that makes my job worth it.
He ended our Skype call with, "I'm going to poop and then go play my ukulele in the park."
Like wrapping my dick in silk, wrapping that in velvet, and putting it in a cloud. A warm, tight, wet cloud.
I tried to text you about going to the Lion's Den but sent it to my boss. She was down for it. Please advise.
The guy whose house were at is drunkenly reading green eggs and ham to us in German
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