Tonight i am praying for god to turn my pussy into apple pie because i cant count the number of times bruce chooses food over sex.
insurance, jail, and birth control were made for people like us.
I feel as if I owe my bloodstream some tequila.
Also, our mothers are placing bets on which of us will get pregnant first.
I would literally rather jam a rusty rail road spike into my cock than be here right now. The whore showed up and now I might smash my iPhone into my face repeatedly until I'm no longer consisting of any sort of life.
I want to hump her dimples until her face caves in.
So many issues. You honestly need help.
There is a special place in Hell for whichever one of you put Ben Gay on my dildo. It was a very uncomfortable April 1.
This is your morning-after text courtesy of your very confused friend!! :) To discuss "what the hell were you trying to tell me last night," press 1. To laugh over your drunken antics, press 2. To pretend like none of it even happened (or to respond with concurrent confusion because you have no idea), press 3.
I'm at the point where I'm more upset that he got to keep my bottle of Fireball than that he stopped talking to me with no explanation
she had a dildo shaped like a dolphin. she will forever be known as Flipper
I achieved the level of drunk I wanted even with the length of dress I was in..
we need to find a way to be drinking champagne 24/7
It feels appropriate that the wallet of my high school and college years would die at the hands of a spilled bong. Which in and of itself is a solid metaphor for those years.
I feel like I should send her I'm sorry I've been fucking your boyfriend flowers.
he broke off the kiss to ask "can I grab your boob?" like props for asking for clear and concise consent but there HAS to be a sexier way to do it
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