I just spent the last hour reading customer reviews on amazon.com for the book "it hurts when I poop." Send help.
She called it mighty mouse.. And from there it was down hill
We have sex, then he cooks. It's like a fantasy.
She's like the pied piper of lesbians.
I'm afraid to text her because most of the time she just replies with "cockblock."
No I'm done finals, but I'm not coming home until these hickeys are gone.
Just sponge bathed with a swissper. Thrush inevitable. Shaking.
I'll keep you from getting pregnant and you keep my papers gramaticallly correct
well I woke up with about $3 in odd change and a note that said "I'm borrowing your weed." So, no, it didn't go to well.
He's so urbane and sleek; so aesthetically chiseled, having endless features to offer me whenever I desire.
Are you fucking a guy or a condo building?
Riding the train home at 6 am for class still drunk is losing its novelty in my junior year
I've come to the conclusion all of your awkward and complicated male encounters could easily be intercepted by a man town Yankee candle and a vibrator. Sleep on that tell me your thoughts in the morning. Sweet dreams.
I can't remember if I puked before or after the shots of absinthe. Or why I thought shots of absinthe was a good idea.
Sarah is throwing up still and I'm eating salad with my fingers
Status: mom bitching about grandma not shutting the fuck up, while not shutting the fuck up. Dear Jesus give me strength or more bourbon.
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