my number is 615-555-1212, <3 your favorite asshole
I have never pre-planed for a better sober morning than lacing my muffin batch with tylenol.
I am going to get arrested. I am yelling fuck repeatedly, wearing a Bird jersey and polka dot pants while pounding wine. Amazing mug shot to follow.
Condom broke. Took her to CVS for plan B and parked in expectant mothers spot. I laughed.. she cried
She tried catching cigarette ashes on her tongue like snowflakes.
It feels like I've shaved away my winter coat and my vagina is going to freeze if I go outside.
Wait wait wait. I remember riding in her car to the next bar. On your lap. With my head on the dashboard. That probably should have been my cut off point.
It was just a friend comforting a friend. Except his penis was inside of me.
I hope you enjoy this collage I made of you and me getting fucked up together
Why is there puke in my guitar?
Because you puked in your guitar.
I want to sit on top of her nipple mountains and reenact the Ricola commercial.
Smoking a bowl and ordering Dominos, you want in on either, both, or none?
the bouncer just handed me a Starbucks bag of pound cake
I've got five complains from the landlord about she being too loud during sex in two weeks I'm marrying her
So I figured out why that guy from Tinder stopped messaging me back. He got married.
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